Chapter Text

He had always found solace in the library; the comforting silence, the scent of age-old parchment, and the intoxicating awareness of the sheer knowledge at his fingertips. His mother had always encouraged his thirst to learn, pushed tomes and books and scrolls into his hands and watched as he consumed the information with sad, yet proud eyes.

His year mates never did understand his drive, how he could prefer the looming shelves of the school library to the beautiful gardens and crystal statues. They did not understand why he immersed himself so thoroughly in faded, fragmented texts that held – what some may consider – unnecessary knowledge.

A sardonic smile always pulled at the side of his mouth at their ignorance.

They did not understand that one day, a scrape of obscure information may just save his life from the shadow that lurked, always, over him. But he knew all too well the importance of his study. He had known since he was six what was expected of him.

With a soft sigh, Hadrian took a seat at a polished table and plucked his book from his satchel. Magick Moste Evile was an unattractive book, but Hadrian knew the information in it was quite valuable. His mother requested he re-read it, and practice a small list of spells she had prepared that the book covered in extensive detail. Some were Light, most, however, were firmly considered Dark. This year, his mother insisted he expand his experience with the Dark Arts. They both believed that to face his opponents, Hadrian needed intimate knowledge of their methods.

Of course, they never spoke of how Hadrian was naturally gifted with the Dark Arts, or how he rarely felt the effects of using the tempestuous branch. His mother, as a Light witch, did not necessarily like the idea of her son being predisposed to Dark magic, but she knew that to survive he had to use whatever power he had at his disposal. And she valued his life far too much to try and hinder his growth.

Hadrian allowed himself to sink into the book with a single-mindedness he rarely permitted. He had been taught to always keep his attention on his surroundings, to never let himself be truly relaxed, not even at home. But every once in a while, he lowered his guard just slightly, just enough to release some of the tension that coiled within his body at the constant paranoia he maintained. Beauxbatons was far away from most of the political strife in Britain, and none of his classmates knew who he really was.

To them, he was Hadrian Evans – a particularly handsome, talented and charming student who had few close friends. Everyone recognised him, and many respected him, but his aloof attitude prevented most from getting close to him. He was the type of person that, when he wished, could command people's absolute attention, but could just as easily slip into the background and move unseen.

But none knew who he really was. His classmates and instructors did not know the name he guarded jealously, or that he and his mother were marked people. They did not know what had happened to his father, or why they had never met his mother. They did not see how Hadrian always listened for news on Britain, or how his eyes darkened at any mention of the Dark Lord. They did not understand, no matter how much he wished they could.

Because they were children. Yes, they were exceptionally intelligent, powerful and occasionally dangerous in their ruthlessness – but they were children nonetheless. Hadrian had long since lost the naïveté his classmates still had. He was a soldier, a survivor, and he was preparing for a war.

“Hadrian!”

The call startled him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Claire approaching with a smile. With faux-casualness he shut his book and slid it back into his bag, not willing to let the girl know too much. He was considered a Light wizard by most after all, and did not need anything risking the image he had striven to maintain just yet.

“Claire,” he greeted politely, allowing a gentle smile to tug the corner of his mouth. The part-veela settled down next to him, chin propped gently on the back of her hand as she gazed at him with stern blue eyes. “do you need something?”

Her lips thinned at his blunt attitude, but she did not rebuke him for it. “You weren’t in the gardens for lunch, Jacob asked me to come fetch you.” Her nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of the library.

Hadrian felt a flicker of amusement rise in his chest, and he grinned at the slightly older witch. “Are you Jacob’s owl now, Claire? I knew you fancied him, but being reduced to a messenger is a little too desperate, don’t you think?” His teasing was in good nature, and Claire responded by swatting his upper arm in a manner that was still oddly refined despite its puerility. The part-veela sniffed and pointedly looked away from him.

“I don’t know where you get those ridiculous notions from Hadrian, Jacob is hardly an acceptable match for me.”

Jacob Korin was in their year, and was a pureblood, universally respected in the school, and regarded with affection. He was also one of the few people Hadrian ever felt truly comfortable around. Claire had fancied him since fourth year, and Hadrian immensely enjoyed provoking the girl whenever he had the chance.

“Come now darling, Jacob is intelligent, powerful, a pureblood, handsome…surely you could do worse?”

A glint came to Claire’s eyes, “Perhaps you should court him then, if you are so knowledgeable of his personality.”

She was hoping to fluster him, but Hadrian merely grinned wolfishly as he stood and leaned to whisper in her ear. “Who said anything about courting?” he stepped back and winked as he tugged his bag onto his shoulder, “I’ve already had my fun with him.”

She gasped, eyes alight with interest as her quick mind rushed to put together what he truly meant. “Did you actually...?” She seemed hesitant to voice her conclusion though, and Hadrian used her minor distraction to begin walking away. Let her assume what she liked. Claire would never spread any rumour pertaining to him, and certainly not Jacob when she desired him.

He heard her sharply call after him, no doubt annoyed at him for dropping such a claim and then leaving her unsatisfied with no answers.

Claire caught up with him easily and Hadrian momentarily cursed the fact that her legs were longer.

“I don’t believe it. You and Jacob would never do that. You respect each other too much.” She was like a dog with a bone, he mused quietly. Or, more accurately, a shark that scented blood. “Hadrian!” she whined when he refused to acknowledge her.

“Let it die, Claire. I’m too tired to play today.”

“You little liar!” she laughed, slapping his shoulder again. “I hate it when you play mind games with me, I can never tell when you are joking or not.”

“You’re just mad that you can’t spot my lies anymore, Claire. You used to revel in the fact that I was a hopeless little boy.”

She smiled gently at him, and looped her arm through his. Hadrian allowed it and did not resist when she subtly took control of their direction. “I remember when we were eight,” she chuckled in amusement, “I had never seen such a scrawny boy before, and I thought ‘He’ll never last here, he’s too soft’, and now look at you.”

Hadrian rolled his eyes, “Top of our year, stunningly gorgeous, and entirely too aware of my own skill.”

She huffed, “Stop right there Hadrian, or your ego won’t fit through the doorway.”

“Ego is intangible sweetheart, and besides, magic remember?”

“You’re intolerable,” she groaned, brushing some of her fringe from her eyes as they exited the marvellous front door of Beauxbatons and down the marble steps to the lush gardens. Hadrian laughed at her annoyed expression, genuinely amused at their conversation.

At the sound Claire felt a small smile kick at the edges of her mouth. It was indeed rare to see Hadrian laugh like this, head thrown back and green, green eyes alight with warmth. He was so serious most of the time, or at least more refined than others in behaviour. Those who spent time with him regularly got a taste of his wicked sense of humour and sharp tongue; but only those who he was comfortable with got to see what a wonderful person he truly was underneath it all.

He was, honestly, one of the most intriguing individuals she had ever met. So many layers and secrets wrapped up in a beautiful face and strong body. There had been a time, when she first saw Hadrian with the new students, that she had scorned the young boy. The son of a squib that thought he had the right to enter such a prestigious school.

Claire felt her lips curl in a tight, self-depriving way. When Hadrian had excelled in his classwork and showed how much better than the rest of them he was…it had been a bitter pill to swallow for her. That a boy with no noteworthy family history had been so much stronger than her had broken some of her confidence. But now she could think of none more worthy than him to hold such power, no one who could be such a figure of importance and still so generous, as Hadrian was.

Unbidden, her arm tightened around his. She cared about Hadrian – deeply. Far more than she should, and most certainly more than was smart. Hadrian, for all his kindness, was dangerous. He was a wild card, and his power made him all the more unstable.

Unlike a majority of their year mates who were already fixed on their future paths, Hadrian had not once revealed where he would go. She, Jacob and a fair amount of the school, believed him to be headed towards politics. With his grades, natural charisma and easy-going personality he could quite successfully gain himself a position in the French Ministry and with time, climb the ladder – possibly even secure Minister. He was young after all, and had begun to make more significant appearances at various ministry-organised events that were breeding grounds for upcoming witches and wizards looking to make a splash.

Claire hoped that was the route Hadrian took. The boy was a bit radical in his ideas, and often reacted unexpectedly – but it was his unpredictability that made him very suited to play politician. There was nothing more detrimental then a leader that was predictable. Predictable meant weak, it meant easily countered and controlled. A leader who was unforeseeable was protected, as long as they had the mind to plan ahead. Hadrian was sharp and cunning, with a mind predisposed to strategy.

“You're being unusually quiet today,” his voice snapped her from her thoughts, and Claire turned to see him watching her curiously. “you've had me in your clutches for almost ten minutes and you have yet to drown me with prattle and gossip.” It was his own way of asking her what was troubling her. So like Hadrian, to be so indirect with his concern. She smiled at him, her chest warmed by his care, however hidden it was.

He blinked at her genuine expression of happiness. “I am fine my friend.” she spoke, squeezing his arm again and pulling him more demandingly than she had been. “Let us find Jacob, you know how he gets if he does not see you at least twice a day.”

Hadrian hummed “And we mustn't let poor, sweet Jacob suffer, correct? Some separation from me would do him good,” his eyes drifted to the group they were approaching, almost instantly landing on the topic of their conversation. “I cannot always be there to starve off his boredom.”

Claire laughed, drawing the group's attention to them just as they reached them, “Perhaps you're right Hadrian, but we graduate this year, let him have his fun while he can.”

“Oh, Hadrian and I are quite adept at making our own fun, aren't we?”

“I've already used that idea with her today Jacob, though my own hint was far more subtle then that attempt.” Jacob merely grinned at the two of them and latched onto Hadrian's spare arm, yanking the dark haired boy down on the fountain lip with him. Claire sat herself carefully on Hadrian's other side, delicate hands smoothing over her blue uniform skirt, content to leave them to themselves as she was drawn into another conversation with some of the others.

“Is there a reason you wanted me?” He wasted no time in beating around the bush, Jacob rarely resorted to getting others to fetch him. The Korin heir much preferred hunting Hadrian down himself – something to do with 'the chase' – and telling him news that way. So he was either feeling far too lazy, or the news he had was so important that he did not wish to waste time tracking him down.

Jacob inclined his head, his bright grin fading into something more subdued and fond. “You have always been an impatient person, in most aspects of your life I can now say.” His tone was light, but Hadrian narrowed his eyes fiercely and darted a quick glance around them. Jacob chuckled, standing up and brushing off his trouser legs. He jerked his head away, “Come, we'll walk and talk. I have much to tell you.”

Hadrian watched Jacob with suspicion laced with concern but stood to follow him regardless. They fell easily into sync and began to navigate their way to a more secluded area of the gardens, until the idle chatter of the hundreds of others occupying the green space began to dwindle to nothingness.

Hadrian held his questions, content in the knowledge that Jacob would share his information with him in time. They stopped just beyond the hedges of the eastern garden and Hadrian gave his friend his undivided attention.

It was an open secret amongst the upper students that Jacob had an unrivalled web with which he used to gather quite accurate titbits of information. For someone who only just reached their majority a few months earlier this was a feat – regardless that the Korin family was a prominent one in their society and held significant influence. Honestly, Hadrian was just relieved that he had secured Jacob’s good will years earlier and had so far managed to keep the other from growing too curious about his own secrets.

He knew Jacob was aware that there were some irregularities in Hadrian’s life, but luckily he had managed to blame that on his muggle heritage. Jacob respected him far too much to go prying into his past. Hadrian knew his mother’s efforts to conceal their identities could withstand close scrutiny – they would simply have not survived as long as they had if her work was subpar – but he also knew that if one became overly curious in either one of them, and had a keen eye, it would only take a matter of time before their cover unravelled.

And that could not be allowed to happen. Not before he was ready.

Jacob wandlessly cast a privacy spell and wasted no time in divulging his findings – another reason Hadrian appreciated him. Business was business.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the council meeting taking place next month?”

He nodded. It was common knowledge that every two weeks the French Ministry held a public meeting to discuss a range of topics from monetary to auror matters, and everything in between; and allowed citizens to view the processions. However, every few months a special, three day meeting occurred that involved far more sensitive discussions about high-security matters that was, unfortunately, closed to the public. The next one was due to occur next month.

Jacob, seeing his nod, continued. “Yes well, I’ve heard whispers of one topic that will definitely be on the table during the meeting.” The pureblood leaned comfortably against the dark trunk of a tree and stared into Hadrian’s eyes. “Britain’s pushing for the reinstallation of the Triwizard Tournament.”

What?

Hadrian blinked, and though he knew his surprise was plainly visible he was hardly bothered by his lapse in composure. This was beyond anything he could have assumed; it was ridiculous in all aspects. His fingers twitched.

What is Britain thinking? Reinstallation? There’s no way they could convince the other Ministers to agree to this. It was stopped for a reason.

“It’s been banned for two-hundred years.” He said quietly, more for the sake of filling the silence between them.

Jacob inclined his head “Two-hundred and five if you want to be pedantic about it.” He did not offer any other comments, seemingly content to allow Hadrian time to absorb and evaluate. He understood, to an extent, how his friend’s mind worked and had no issue with waiting. If anything, it gave him time to observe Hadrian without restriction.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes and stared blankly off to the side as he allowed his thoughts to run.

It has to be Voldemort’s doing, there’s no other explanation. But why? It makes no sense to re-establish the tournament. He’s shown no signs of turning his attention outside of Britain since he conquered it, and unless he plans to use this as a way to gain a foothold in Europe there’s absolutely no purpose. He’s hardly stupid – the tournament was barred because it was considered far too dangerous and was widely unpopular after so many unnecessary deaths. He would know that proposing this could damage his public image so why –

A cold sensation filled him.

Could he…but no. No, there’s no way he could know about me. Mum left no evidence of where we fled, and even if he had somehow caught wind of me there is nothing linking me to the Potter family. He’d hardly do something this reckless just on the off-chance he’d run into me – there are much subtler, and easier, ways to kill me. It can’t be that. There’s something I’m missing.

“Did Britain give a reason?”

Jacob shrugged, “Something about it being a large part of our culture, and how it could repair the bond between our countries by ‘fostering international relationships’ between the next generation of witches and wizards.” A small grin flickered on Jacob’s handsome face, “Personally, my father thought that was a load of hippogriff dung; and I’m inclined to agree.”

Hadrian hummed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Who proposed it?”

“The Minister, Lucius Malfoy.”

Hadrian’s eyes flashed, “Malfoy? Not Voldemort?” He watched as Jacob wrinkled his nose at the name, and cursed himself for the slip. He was always careful to hide his true opinions of Voldemort, and in the instances he felt himself unable to do so, always excused himself before he drew attention to it.

Voldemort might not have the same presence here in Europe that he had in England, but he was rarely so disrespectfully addressed.

Whether by luck, or some divine intervention, Jacob ignored his mistake. “It was definitely Malfoy, the Dark Lord wasn’t even in France at the time. Why?”

Indecision prickled at his chest. He trusted Jacob as much as he could trust someone other than his mother, but did he trust him enough to bring him into this? He would not be able to see his mother for another two weeks. He supposed he could owl her, inform her immediately…but what would she do with the information? Sit on it for two weeks? Or would she make preparation without him?

No, he decided swiftly. He would wait for the upcoming holiday when he could explain to his mother in person and have a say in what their next move would be. His mother was cunning, but the only way he could ensure she did not act rashly was to tell her later. That way, he would have time to organise his own thoughts and come up with some arguments of his own. Course of action decided, he answered his friend.

“Don’t you find it odd?” he began, looking closely at Jacob from the corner of his eyes. “That they’d be pushing for this now? He’s been in control of England for almost fifteen years, but that hardly means his rule is stable. Sure, resistance has dwindled, but such a rash move could topple everything he’s worked for.”

He knew he made the right decision when Jacob adopted a thoughtful expression. He could do this. He could allow someone else in without revealing anything too critical. Jacob would not betray him.

“I suppose it is a bit of a gamble for him to do this, but it’s not completely absurd when you take into account certain things.” Jacob rubbed his clean-shaven chin as he continued to share his thoughts. “I’ve heard from some that he’s trying to reverse the damage their blood prejudices have inflicted on Britain. Their pureblood families are dying out due to their unwillingness to taint their bloodlines. Opening up the tournament allows for Britain’s pureblood youth to make firmer connections with European families and possibly secure some marriages. It’s not inconceivable.”

He had not even considered that. The bubble of tension in his chest loosened the longer Jacob spoke.

“He could also be recruiting, I suppose. Using the tournament as a chance to have a look at the up-and-coming witches and wizards outside of Britain; getting an idea of potential future alliances he could make.” A sly look was tossed his way, “Better watch out for that then my friend, you’d make a pretty prize for anyone.”

Hadrian shot him an unimpressed glance to disguise the revulsion that curled in his throat at the thought of ever submitting to the likes of Voldemort.

Jacob waved his irate look away with a sharp laugh and Hadrian continued their conversation with another theory. “He could be using this as an excuse to show his power off. By being the country that proposes the idea this is as much a statement as anything. It’s showing he’s comfortable in his own standing. He’d hardly risk this if he wasn’t confident in his ability to maintain control over the populous.”

“That is possible.” There was a pause and Hadrian found himself being pinned under his classmate’s intense scrutiny. “Why are you so interested in their motives, Hadrian?”

Hadrian forced his body to relax, and shrugged carelessly. “I just find it odd. You admitted much the same. It’s suspicious, that’s all.”

He did not buy it. He could tell by the way a muscle in Jacob’s jaw clenched mere seconds after he spoke. It caused something much like guilt to pierce his chest, but he could not risk this. Jacob was one of his closest confidents, but he refused to draw him into the shit-storm that was his real life. It would be selfish and reckless and he would never forgive himself.

Jacob watched him closely for another moment, before he looked away, disappointment written in every line of his face. “One day you’ll trust me enough.” He said quietly. The soft words made Hadrian grimace and look away from the resignation in Jacob’s expression.

He said nothing, because what was there for him to say? He turned to head back to their group, but had barely moved four steps before his wrist was seized and he was tugged back towards Jacob.

Caught off guard, he stumbled, and the split second of confusion allowed for Jacob to push him against a tree and cage him between his arms. Realising what was happening, he looked up to see a grin on Jacob’s face and raised an unenthusiastic eyebrow. “Really?” he drawled.

“What?” Jacob asked, innocence practically dripping from his mouth.

Well, at least he’s moved on from his disappointment.

“Let me go, Jacob.” He pushed on his friend’s chest firmly, but otherwise made no effort to free himself – which they both knew he was perfectly capable of achieving, if he so wished. “‘Just this once’, remember?”

His friend hummed and dipped his head slightly to trace his nose along his jaw playfully. “That was last week, before I knew how good you were.” He pressed closer and moved his lips more insistently against Hadrian’s skin. Hadrian let his head fall back with a dull ‘thunk’ and sighed – partly in exasperation and partly in amusement. “Come on Hadrian, you still owe me my payment.”

Hadrian made a noise in his throat and shot Jacob a knowing look. “You usually want money, or help with your assignments. Since when did I agree to this form of compensation?” Jacob pulled back from his neck long enough to give him a bemused look, clearly annoyed at his resistance, no matter how weak it was.

“Since you propositioned me last week; if I’d have known you were open to both sexes I would have done this far earlier, I assure you.” One of Jacob’s hands wound its way into his dark hair and played with the ends. He meant that. If he had even caught a hint that Hadrian had no objection to being with another male he would have approached the other boy years ago; back when he first began to notice the way Hadrian tended to lick his bottom lip when he was deep in thought, or how enticing his neck looked when he stretched, or how when he stared into your eyes you felt trapped and exposed and smothered all at the same time.

He grinned when Hadrian’s hand on his chest curled to fist his shirt and the slightly younger boy gave a grin of his own. “Firstly, I was drunk when that happened and you know it, and secondly,” Hadrian pushed against him, forcing him to take a step back, before using Jacob’s confusion to switch their positions. His grin turned decidedly more predatory and Jacob shivered in appreciation at the change.

“I prefer being in control.”

OoO

The pads of her fingers lingered tenderly over the man in the photo. As she watched, he looked at her in surprise before his entire face broke into a beautiful smile. It was the kind of smile that changed the day of anyone who saw it, the kind that could persuade and comfort.

It was a smile that used to provoke deep aggravation in her, then exasperation, then love as the years rolled by and its owner wormed his way into her life and heart. Now, instead of being filled with youthful adoration, the sight of it brought a sharp bitterness and longing to her; because it was all she had left of the man she loved now.

“Maman?” A voice called out, and the sound of it broke her reverie. How had she not heard his arrival? He was hardly capable of using the floo without tripping over himself on the best of days. She should have at least heard the flaring of the hearth as it activated.

Folding the worn photo and slipping it into her robe, she stood. “In here, sweetheart.”

There was a pause, and then she could hear his soft footfalls as he made his way to her study. Mere moments later, his head poked around the door and he smiled when he caught sight of her by the desk. The sight of him made a different kind of ache fill her, but she stubbornly pushed it aside and moved to him.

He was already halfway across the room, and wrapped his arms around her so she rested snuggly against his chest the second she was close enough. He was taller than her now, she realised dimly, too focussed on the feel of having her beloved child back with her.

“Maman?” he asked softly, pulling away slightly so he could look at her. Concern was etched into his green eyes – eyes she knew were a mirror of her own.

This was her sweet boy, always worrying after her instead of himself. Never missing any change in her mood, always asking after her. She smiled as she gently cupped the side of his face in her hand and stroked her thumb across his cheek.

Instantly his hand was covering hers, and he leaned into her touch with closed eyes and a look of absolute tranquillity. She could almost see his defences melting away. Normally she would remind him that he should never let his guard down – not even around her – but after so long of not having her son near, perhaps…she could allow him one night of freedom.

“Harry,” she murmured softly to gain his attention. A slit of vibrant green in each eye let her know he was listening to her. “come, you must unpack and tell me how you went.”

He sighed but let her go. “Of course maman,” he murmured, voice perfectly respectful as she watched with a heavy heart as the walls rose swiftly in her son. She had not meant to push him away.

Harry, ever observant, must have noticed the shadow that appeared over her. He sent her a quirky grin, and a spark of mischievousness entered his eyes. “I slept with Jacob.” He proclaimed, utterly without remorse or embarrassment at telling his mother.

The sorrow that tended to plagued her evaporated, and she cocked an eyebrow even as she began to grin. “And that’s the highlight of your year so far?”

Harry ducked his head and rocked backwards on his heels. His face remained unrepentant despite the meek posture. “Well, technically it’d count as several highlights since it was a repeated occurrence, but yes I dare say it was.”

She laughed, delighted at her son’s attitude and how good it felt to just be with him again. “And?” she asked, eyes alight once more, “how did he do?”

Harry adopted a scandalised expression. “Why maman, I am shocked. Asking such personal questions about your own son’s sex life.” He paused in his mock-scolding for a moment, “And it was very good, especially when he did this trick with his-”

“Enough, Harry,” she interrupted with a laugh at his gall. “tell me about your classes sweetheart.”

And so, for the next hour Harry told her everything to do with his schooling while she flittered about the kitchen to prepare them dinner. Harry watched her from his perch on the counter top, occasionally helping her retrieve what she needed, or wandlessly floating an apple around their heads. His voice was soothing as she worked, and the ache she usually felt whenever Harry left for school slowly changed to the familiar warmth he always brought with him when he returned.

Eventually though, Harry’s voice trailed off. Curious, she half-turned to him just in time to catch the brief flash of indecision on his face before it smoothed over.

She placed the knife she had been using on the cutting board and faced him fully. “Harry?” she questioned, watching him closely. Harry blinked and refocussed on her.

“What’s-”

“The Triwizard Tournament will be reinstated.”

OoO

Hadrian watched critically as his mother’s face became impassive the moment his words processed in her mind. He felt a moment of envy at her impeccable control over her emotions before it was brushed aside. They had more important things to deal with right now.

“Reinstated?”

He inclined his head.

“It is already decided?”

“Not entirely, but I doubt the French or Scandinavian Ministries will put up much of a fight.” Just as he predicted, his mother found the hidden meaning in his words. Her green eyes flared.

“Voldemort.” She spat.

Hadrian nodded once again, calm in the face of his mother’s rage. “My thoughts as well. Though Malfoy was apparently the one to propose the idea.”

“It doesn’t matter who proposed the idea Harry, we know Malfoy is just a figurehead. This has Voldemort written all over it, what concerns me is why?”

Hadrian leant back on his hands and watched as his mother’s mind began working. He hated to break the moment they were having, it had been so long since he and his mother had had a chance to just be themselves. But he could not put off this conversation any longer.

“I doubt he knows about us maman,” he spoke softly “because if he did he wouldn’t go to such lengths to confirm his suspicions. He has no idea where we went after the attack, and even if he somehow caught news of me he wouldn’t automatically jump to the right conclusion.”

He hopped off the counter and put his hands on her shoulders, waiting until she met his eyes and the anger in them had cooled. “Think maman, if he knew about us we would have already been attacked, or there would be surveillance, or any number of horrible things would have happened.”

He could see the grudging acknowledgement on her face and let her go, satisfied that she was now thinking clearly.

Lily Evans’ mind was, without a doubt, her greatest asset. She eyed him closely for a moment before turning back to the cutting board to give her hands something to do as she listened to her son. "What are your theories, then?"

Hadrian sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I have several really. Mostly I think this is just a political play to spread his influence into Europe. Britain's been particularly quiet on the international stage for a while now, getting their affairs in order. This announcement could act as his declaration that he's ready to expand his empire." He licked his bottom lip in thought. "Jacob supposed that he could be looking to make alliances with European families, bring in fresh stock for the English purebloods. But he also suggested recruitment."

"Jacob?" Lily asked sharply, her eyes snapping to his face and the disapproval was stark in the downward twist of her mouth. Hadrian raised his hands helplessly.

"He was the one that brought me the news maman, and I picked his brain for ideas. I didn't reveal anything, I'm not an idiot."

Lily shook her head, fiery hair jostling at the harsh movement. "That's not what I meant Harry. I know you care for Jacob and your other friends, but you cannot let your affection cloud your judgement. Talking to them about these matters is dangerous, not just for us but for them as well. We've been lucky to keep up this charade for as long as we have. You know how critical secrecy is."

"I know, I've always known how important it is, but you do realise that I won't always been able to hide behind our lies. One day, someone is going to figure it out and what will we do then maman? Run to some other corner of the world, make new names and pray it doesn't happen again?" He could feel the frustration in him growing. "You do realise that they could help us? My friends might be children now, but in the future they will be the elite of French society. If they knew who we really were they could help us prepare, help us-"

"Enough!"

Hadrian's mouth clicked close on instinct.

Lily sighed deeply, and brushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes were tightly closed and Hadrian could see the stress weighing on her. He felt shame prickle at his chest that he had caused the weary expression. He could count on one hand the number of times he had raised his voice at his mother. They rarely fought, because when they did their fights were ugly and painful and they both knew how to twist their words into weapons.

"I understand you're frustration Harry, but we must protect ourselves. I'm sorry. This was never the life I wanted for you, but this is where we are." She reached out and delicately brushed her fingers over his cheekbone. He barely had time to register her touch before she was pulling away and retreating from the kitchen, leaving him standing alone next to their half-prepared food.

He groaned loudly and hung his head. "Merde."

That had not gone the way he had wanted. But he knew better than to run after his mother and apologise. He had crossed a boundary, and pressing his mother after he had prodded at a wound was not a wise decision unless he wanted her to close away from him more.

Hadrian knew very little about his father. Lily had lost something of herself that night when she had fled from their home in Godric's Hollow, and could barely bring herself to speak of James Potter. Hadrian knew his father had been an auror, he knew he had been a powerful man, and he knew he had given his life to give his beloved wife and son an opportunity to escape. But he knew next-to-nothing of the man behind the stories.

And now he had gone and reminded his mother that her husband was dead and gone.

Gods, he could be such an insensitive bastard sometimes.

Hadrian left the kitchen, making his way towards his room and collapsing on his bed. He carelessly tossed an arm over his eyes to shut out the trickle of afternoon light.

He would mend things with his mother at a later date, once they had both cooled their tempers. Right now he had to work out what he would do with the inevitable reintroduction of the Triwizard Tournament - because it would be started again, he just knew it. France and Scandinavia would not let themselves be intimidated by Britain. They would see this as a direct challenge to their pride. It did not matter if the tournament was originally banned because it was seen as a horrible waste of young lives, they would willingly throw a young witch or wizard into the tournament just to prove themselves.

And Hadrian had a horrible feeling he would be dragged along for the ride. He was widely known in Beauxbatons as the strongest in his year - or at least the one with the most raw power at his fingertips. It would not matter where the tournament took place, he would be expected to go as a representative. Which would put him right in the snake's jaws. Even if he was not chosen as the champion, he would still be trapped until the tournament was over.

He could only pray that Jacob was wrong and that Voldemort was not on the lookout for new recruits, because otherwise he had no idea how he would be able to fly below the radar with a fucking Dark Lord lurking around him.

Hadrian moved his arm and scrubbed a hand over his face.

Whatever happened, he would have no answers tonight. The meeting was two days away, and it was only then that he would get his answers and could properly begin to plan his next move. For now, he was exhausted.

Chapter Text

It was busier than normal this morning, the foyer of the Ministry filled almost to burst with harried witches and wizards scuttling about. Hadrian was hardly surprised at the number of people. On a normal day there could be hundreds moving through this part of the building, but on the last day of the closed council meetings everyone and their dog wanted to be here.

Not that he had any room to judge them, he was waiting for the exact same thing after all. Today would be the day the decision regarding the Triwizard Tournament would be made.

Hadrian let his head fall back to rest against the marble pillar he had claimed as his own hours before, and closed his eyes. He let the flashes of speech he could hear wash over him, until it was an unintelligible garble of French, English and several other languages he could barely pick out.

He still had not spoken to his mother yet. She was often gone from their home by the time he woke, leaving him nothing more than a short note explaining where she was and what she expected him to get done throughout the day. When she did return she locked herself away in her laboratory to waste the hours away making potions.

It hurt. That his mother had resorted to this. He thinks he would much prefer involuntary neglect then this purposeful avoidance. It had only been a handful of days and already he wanted to be back at Beauxbatons – at least there he had people to entertain him. At home it had always been the two of them, their little sanctuary, and now it felt cold and suffocating.

He just wanted to break down her laboratory door and force her to listen to his apology.

“You look like someone’s died.” Jacob said cheerfully as he slid up next to him and leaned against the pillar as well. Hadrian ignore the twinkling brown eyes watching at him and stared out at the mass of bodies in front of him.

“Where’s your father?”

“Still in session with the other council members, they’re scheduled to have a break soon. Are you hungry?”

Jacob merely grinned when Hadrian gave him an exasperated glance. “Trying another method to get into my pants Korin?” he asked half-heartedly.

“Is it working?” Jacob stepped closer to him, grin becoming a touch leery. Hadrian snorted softly and shoved the other away from him.

“Down boy, we’re in public. You need to think with your other head.”

“It’s hardly my fault I get them confused when I’m around you.”

He was unable to completely stop the chuckle from escaping him this time and Jacob leaned back, apparently satisfied. “Your flirting is atrocious Jacob, it’s a wonder anyone has sex with you.”

“You can’t judge Hadrian, when you’ve sampled the goods yourself. It was your idea initially.”

“Yes, can’t image what I was thinking. It’s almost like I was drunk at the time.”

They shared a grin, but their fun was interrupted when the large council doors opened and the members trickled out. Hadrian quickly scanned their faces for any sign of their moods, but they gave nothing away. Instead, he moved his gaze around until he landed on Jacob’s father.

Éric Korin cut an impressive figure as he strode away from the other councillors. He was tall, broad-shouldered and carried an aura of competency that could only come from years of experience in the political battling arena. He was also the source of his son’s handsomeness. Even though he was brushing his fifties, Éric still retained much of his youthful features; so much so, that if you put Jacob and Éric side-by-side they would resemble brothers far more than father and son.

Hadrian was already moving to intercept the man, Jacob trailing after at a more sedate pace.

Éric caught sight of them just as he was making his way to his office and patiently waited for the boys to meet him just before the boundary. He smiled at Hadrian and nodded a greeting to his son when he spotted him.

“I should have known the two of you would be here at some point,” he began walking again. “I suppose you are looking to get information from me Mr. Evans?” There was a lick of humour in the man’s voice as he pulled his wand from his robe and cast a simple spell to allow them to pass through the boundary ward into the next sector of the Ministry.

Only certain Ministry workers had access to this area, as it was where most of the politicians’ offices were located. Harry and Jacob were only allowed in because they were accompanied by Éric, otherwise the wards would have simply denied them entry. It was just one of the simplest security measures in place to prevent an attack, the entire building was brimming in protective and surveillance wards.

The three of them made their way to Éric’s office.

“You know me too well Lord Korin,” Hadrian acknowledged with a dip of his head. “I had hoped you would sate my curiosity on a matter.”

The man gestured for the boys to take a seat while he closed his office door. Hadrian felt the privacy wards spring into action the moment the door closed, and suppressed a grin. His relationship with Éric was an interesting one. It had taken him years to fight his way into the man’s good graces, navigating his way through the small games the man liked to play occasionally.

He knew Éric liked him, and in some way respected him. But he also knew the man was wary of him. Because he had been a politician too long to not recognise a potential threat when it was right in front of him. And Hadrian was a threat, maybe not to the man or his family, but to people who got in his way.

Éric sat himself down behind his desk and closely studied the two boys in front of him. He had been waiting for Hadrian’s visit, knew it was only a matter of time before the dark haired wizard would come asking questions.

He had been debating whether he would tell the boy anything, however he knew that even if Hadrian did not get any information out of him, Jacob would eventually tell his friend. It was frustrating the amount of pull the other had over his son but also admirable.

“What is it you wished to discuss?”

“The Triwizard Tournament,” he nodded, expecting that one. “it’s being restored, isn’t it?”

Éric sighed and leaned back in his chair. He looked at Hadrian and Jacob, suddenly feeling decades older than he was. “We’ve yet to officially decide, but at this rate I believe it will be, yes.” His fingers moved over some of the files on his desk as he spoke. “Most were firmly against the decision in the beginning. The Triwizard Tournament was a dark blotch in our history as far as I am concerned, and many were relieved when it was disbanded.”

“Well it did result in a lot of deaths.” Jacob injected. Éric nodded in acknowledgement at the point.

“Yes, yes it did. It was a senseless waste of young witches and wizards purely for the fanciful notion of eternal glory.” Scorn seeped into his voice. “Unfortunately many seem to have forgotten that when Malfoy got up to speak.”

Éric noted with some interest that Hadrian’s eyes sharpened. “Malfoy?” the boy prompted. “Why was he even given an audience? He’s not part of the French Ministry.”

“True enough, but as the Minister that proposed the idea he believed he should have the opportunity to present his argument before we came to a decision.” Something bitter took a hold of Éric’s chest. “Within minutes he had won over more than half of the council.”

“What could he have possibly said to change their views so quickly?”

“Mostly it was about what they would do to ensure the champions’ safety after it was restored. In the past, it wasn’t uncommon for champions to die outside of their challenges through a series of unfortunate ‘accidents’. If one champion was clearly a threat to the others, then all it would take was a slip of poison and the problem would go away. Malfoy suggested taking precautionary steps to prevent this sort of sabotage against the champions.”

Hadrian snorted, “It would take more than a couple of binding oaths or protection charms to prevent someone truly dedicated from killing someone else.”

“Yes but it would be more than the champions had in the past. I doubt back then they had much insurance that they wouldn’t be harmed outside of the actual challenges.” Jacob shot back.

“Which is why each champion would be gifted with a bracelet with some of the most powerful charms on it.” Éric cut in before Hadrian could reply, and instantly seized their attention back. “Malfoy suggested that these bracelets be worn at all times by the champions, only taken off during the challenges themselves. There would be a number of spells and runes warding against poisoning, curses or any other methods of foul-play to ensure none of the champions die.”

Hadrian tilted his head to the side, a caustic grin on his handsome face. “And just who would be making these bracelets? I somehow doubt England, France and Scandinavia would allow just anyone to protect their champions.”

Éric returned Hadrian’s grin with one of his own. “Why the Dark Lord, of course.”

He was rewarded with something he rarely saw – Hadrian faltering. It should not be so satisfying to see a young boy’s composure slip, but Éric could not stop it from warming his stomach. He had an inkling that Hadrian had a special brand of dislike for Lord Voldemort – why he did not know, but he would enjoy finding out – and over the years had learned how to push that particular button.

“The man might be British by birth, but his status as a Lord makes people more inclined to trust his impartiality.”

“He’s a Dark Lord, and a psychopath. I hardly think he’s worthy of so much trust.”

My, my. Éric thought in delight at the rage building in those green eyes. Did I touch a nerve?

“Regardless of your own opinions, when you have a Dark Lord supporting your decisions, you will find there are rarely those brave enough to oppose.” And just like that, the amusement he got from provoking Hadrian vanished, replaced by the crushing knowledge that there was a high chance these two boys would be sent to represent Beauxbatons.

His fists clenched at the hopelessness of the situation. He was enraged that his fellow council members had folded so quickly under Malfoy’s sly words and honeyed promises. It was disgusting and insulting, and Éric hated them for it.

A sharp knock at his office door startled them all, and after a sharp wave of his wand a young witch opened the door to smile apologetically at him. “Forgive me for the interruption Lord Korin, but Minister Malfoy would like a word with you.”

OoO

Lucius watched with a pleased smirk as the French councillors dispersed from the chamber. He knew it was only a matter of time before they agreed to his proposal, their faces as he had spoken had shown their approval. The only annoyance he felt was that it had taken this long to convince the French to agree to reviving the tournament.

He had won over a majority of the council already, but there was one that might cause trouble.

Lucius cast his eyes around, landing on the figure of Éric Korin as he disappeared passed the boundary. He barely paid any heed to the two smaller figures with the man as he made his way to them. Unfortunately, it would have to be a short visit. He had other matters to attend to and while it would be nice to have a full vote supporting his proposal, it was not needed.

The process to get through the wards was tiring, but not as extensive as they would have been had he not held the position he did. Within minutes he had been cleared and was being guided to Korin’s office by a young witch that offered just the right amount of commentary to be considered polite.

He listened with half an ear as the witch announced him before he breezed into the room. “Korin.” He greeted curtly, briefly allowing his eyes to run over the two young boys – both near Draco’s age, he was sure – before snapping back to the man in question.

Korin’s face was carefully blank, but Malfoy knew he had unbalanced the man by coming here so soon after the meeting break.

“Minister Malfoy,” Korin acknowledged while standing. “surprising to see you. Is there something wrong?” The man made a gesture at the two boys and both immediately stood and made their way to the door.

With a grin Lucius snapped his cane out and blocked the closest boy from moving any further. He spotted the youth’s shoulders tensing out of the corner of his eye but no other reaction was forthcoming. Pity.

“No need to run off boys, I won’t intrude for long. Take a seat.” He pushed the cane into the boy’s chest, amused when he felt momentary resistance from the black haired boy before the second one – most likely Korin’s son judging from the brown hair and eyes – tugged his companion back to their seats.

“Now, Korin,” he began, voice smooth and smile sweet. “I wanted to discuss the upcoming vote with you.” He caught the slight tightening around the edges of the man’s mouth and contained the buzz he got. Korin was a good politician and was quite skilled at the game, but Lucius was better. And having his son in the room was a bonus. It would be thrilling to strong-arm the man in front of his boy.

“Of course Minister.”

Lucius hummed and ran his long fingers along his cane, allowing his silence to heighten the tension in the room. “I could not help but notice you do not seem to…approve of the proposal.”

He could see the wheels turning in the man’s head, and was momentarily intrigued when Korin glanced at the other two in the room. He followed the man’s gaze to the dark haired one who was watching them without a hint of the unease Lucius could see on Korin’s child.

Those green eyes were lovely though.

“It is more that I do not see the potential benefits in reviving an old practise.” Malfoy turned his full attention back to Korin and shaking off the sensation of familiarity he got when looking at the child.

He found himself smiling at Korin again. “Why my friend, there are so many! Think of the economic benefits, the trade opportunities. And the improvements to our auror forces – sharing training methods, and such.” He stepped closer to the two boys until he stood in between, and just behind the chairs the two occupied.

Korin watched him like a hawk.

“Potential family alliances between countries would make our culture flourish, not to mention the educational improvements that could be made.” Lucius cupped his hand over the shoulder of Korin’s son and gave the boy a gentle shake.

Surprisingly it was not Korin that reacted, but rather the other child.

The dark haired boy shot up from his seat and pinned him with his gaze. Lucius, startled but amused, cocked an eyebrow. “And what benefits does your Lord get out of this?” He demanded with a surprising hint of a British accent mixed in with the obvious French.

“Evans!” The child – really, the boy might be around majority age but he was still painfully young – ignored Korin’s sharp reprimand effortlessly. He met Lucius’ stare, holding himself confidently and acting as if he fully expected the British Minister of Magic to tell him what he wanted to know.

And instead of feeling insulted at the lack of respect Lucius felt his interest grow. It was not uncommon knowledge that he was a highly ranked Death Eater. Now that his Lord had crushed resistance there was no need for them to hide where their true loyalties lay.

He chuckled and enjoyed the way the boy’s eyes blazed even as his expression closed off. “Now, now Korin. The boy is allowed his curiosity. I am, however, afraid that I cannot speak fully on Lord Voldemort’s behalf.”

He stepped closer to the boy. “But I can say that the Dark Lord is immensely excited to witness the strength of the next generation.”

Lucius brought his cane up and traced the ornamented head along the child’s chin. If his actions discomforted him there was no hint of it on the younger’s face. Fascinating. He had come here to intimidate a politician. Instead, he found a little gem that apparently did not know how to bend its pretty little neck.

“What’s your name, child?”

“Curious?”

A pleased smirk curled the edges of his mouth.

“Thoroughly.” He purred.

OoO

Gods, what was I thinking?

Hadrian struggled to keep his face blank after he heard Malfoy’s soft reply. This was his first time interacting with anyone significantly connected to Voldemort – and he had already screwed himself over.

He had known that eventually he would have to interact with Voldemort’s followers. He was not ignorant of that fact that to complete his goal he would have to fight against a majority of the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters, and that there was no possible way for his hands to remain free of blood.

He was supposed to keep a level head, to remain in control of his emotions and never falter – those are the qualities his mother had drilled into him since he was a child. He was supposed to be cunning in his dealings with these people, not hot-headed and overwhelmed simply by their presence.

Ever since Malfoy had stepped into Éric’s office it was as if all his nerves were sparking with repressed energy. Hadrian could feel his magic rolling just below his skin, gathering in response to his rising anger and desperate to be used against this threat. It was only by a thin thread of concentration that he was not projecting his magic around them.

He was actually doing quite well at suppressing his urge to attack the British Minister when he touched Jacob. The sight of such a dangerous man standing so close to his friend, and the implied threat in his actions had snapped Hadrian’s already shaky composure.

He had reacted thoughtlessly, and now here he was, dancing to Malfoy’s tune and drawing attention to himself. He should have kept his mouth shut and just let the man throw his threats at Éric. Now he was staring into the cold eyes of a predator.

There had to be a way he could salvage this before he lost all control.

It was too late for him to drop back and act meek. Malfoy was not stupid enough to fall for such a distinct personality shift, he would see it as the ruse it was. But how could he throw the man off without inciting more curiosity?

Unless…

He might not have to back-track. He could instead play up his attitude. Make himself seem nothing more than an arrogant young wizard that lacked respect. It would not be too hard. He usually used arrogance as a joke between he and his friends, this would simply be a matter of doing the same just without projecting any humour.

Yes, that could work. Malfoy would be less likely to find me interesting if all he saw of me was a brat. If I pull this off he probably won’t even remember my name. Hadrian plastered a grin on his face, making sure it contained all the haughtiness of a teenager.

Let’s play Malfoy.

“The name’s Hadrian Evans,” he slapped the cane away from his face and raised a condescending eyebrow at the older wizard.

“Oh? ‘Evans’, I’m not familiar with that family name.” There was a spark of rage in Malfoy’s mercury eyes at his blatant disrespect. Clearly the man was already revising his opinion of Hadrian. Before Hadrian had been challenging, defiant in his words and actions. Now he was openly antagonising and radiating insolence.

Someone like Malfoy would instantly despise this type of attitude. And his comment about Hadrian’s last name?

Even better. What blood elitist would want to waste time on the bastard son of a squib?

“It’s my father’s family name,” he jutted out his chin as if defensive. “and I wouldn’t expect someone like yourself to know that many muggle families.”

There. It was barely a flicker, but the disgust was visible purely because Hadrian had been watching for it. He was already losing Malfoy’s interest. He could see the way the Minister was subtly leaning away from him, his cane held aloof in front of him as an obvious physical barrier; as opposed to earlier when Malfoy was practically curling into Hadrian’s personal space.

He could taste his success already; all it would take is one little push to completely turn Malfoy off of him.

“Ah yes, unfortunately I have never had much of an opportunity to interact with many muggles over the years.”

I wonder if you count killing them as ‘opportunities to interact’, you pretentious murderer.

“I’d really recommend it Minister. There are a great many things you could learn from-”

Malfoy cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. Hadrian let his mouth click closed if only to contain the almost giddy laugh that threatened to escape him at having successfully outmanoeuvred Lucius Malfoy.

The man had been interested in the defiant young wizard. He had no interest in a cocky teenager expressing pro-muggle ideals.

“As delightful as that sounds Mr. Evans, I must decline.” And there was the impatience. It seems Malfoy finally remembered the real reason he had come here and was irritated that he had been distracted. Now he had lost whatever footing he had had by arriving so unpredictably. His chance to intimidate Éric was now undervalued and he would have to make a retreat early, or get to his point faster.

“Korin, I’m sure you will find plenty of time to consider your options by the end of our break.” Malfoy’s eyes drifted to Jacob, who asides from brief moments had managed to evade scrutiny until this point. “And I know you will choose what is best for you and your son. The Triwizard Tournament is a step in the right direction to improving the relationship between our three countries, after all.”

Finished with his little threat but clearly annoyed that it had lost some of its effectiveness, Malfoy swept from the room, missing the burning glare from Éric and the inaudible, savage snarl from Hadrian. Not two seconds after the trailing end of Malfoy’s cloak had crossed the office threshold was the door snapping closed with a wave of Éric’s hand.

The air in the room remained tense. Hadrian slowly let his muscles relax and dropped the aggressive stance he had taken when speaking to Malfoy. He carded his hand through his hair and let out a soft sigh.

He turned back to Éric and Jacob to find them both staring at him. The former’s gaze was calculating, the latter’s more concerned. Both had a touch of bewilderment to them though. Unsurprisingly, Jacob was the first to break the silence.

“What in the world was that?”

“That Jacob, was Lucius Malfoy threatening your life to ensure your father’s cooperation.” Hadrian dropped down into his previous seat and ignored the sour look his friend sent him at his sarcastic response.

“Yes I got that, thank you for that insightful observation Hadrian.” Jacob gestured sharply at the close door. “I was more concerned about you challenging the British Minister of Magic. What were you thinking?”

Hadrian ignored him with ease borne of years of experience. “What are you going to do?” he asked Éric, genuinely curious. He knew Éric did not take well to threats against his family, but Malfoy was hardly a simple politician trying to intimidate an arrangement out of him. He was a Minister and, as he seemed delighted to remind them, had the support of one of the most powerful men in the world.

Any threats Malfoy levelled against Éric – no matter how rushed that interaction was – had a very real possibility of coming true. And while Éric was certainly not the warmest father, he valued his son’s life more than his pride. Hadrian could already see where this was going, but he was going to let Éric come to the same conclusion in his own time.

The man had a pinched expression that told Hadrian he was already well on his way to accepting his defeat. “It seems it will have to be a unanimous agreement to revive the Triwizard Tournament.”

Even though he already knew the outcome of Malfoy’s visit, hearing the words opened a pit in Hadrian’s gut. With both Britain and France agreeing, it would only be a matter of time before Scandinavia would fold as well.

Which meant he was as good as a representative already.

But he had not lost just yet. Just because he was going to the tournament did not necessarily mean he would actually be the champion. There were plenty of Beuaxbatons students that could be considered more worthy than him to participate. All he had to do was try and avoid being named champion – and to do that he would have to know how the champions were chosen.

“So it’s going to go ahead then,” he spoke, carefully minding his tone so he did not sound too off. “and do you know when?”

Éric gave him a small grin, “Within a month, two if Scandinavia puts up much of a fight. But I know there is no way you two will avoid being involved.” A shadow lurked in his eyes. “I had hoped if I managed to gather enough support, to push it back one more year, you wouldn’t have to be subjected to this.” He sighed heavily. “I am sorry that I could not.”

Jacob stepped around the desk to lay a hand on his father’s shoulder. “It’s fine father, you tried. Hadrian and I will simply have to watch each other’s back.” There was a bitterness to his grin. “Who knows, perhaps one of us will be a champion?”

Neither of them said anything in response. They all knew that with the challenges in the tournament, failure often meant death. If they were lucky, neither Hadrian nor Jacob would be picked. After a beat, Jacob continued the conversation.

“So which country will play host?”

“Britain, since it was their decision.” Hadrian contained his grimace of pain at the thought of being in the country where Voldemort’s power was at its peak. “You will be sent to Hogwarts for the duration of the tournament.”

And just like that, his trepidation of going to Britain was washed away by a burst of excitement.

Hogwarts.

He had grown up on tales of the majestic castle his mother had attended. She never went into much detail, but the picture she painted with her few words had been enough to foster a sense of wonderment in him. And now he would be going to the same school that caused his mother’s sweet voice to take on such a reverent tone. The school his parents had met at, had fell in love at, and where Hadrian would have gone if his life was not ruined.

Jacob made a noise in the back of his throat. “Hogwarts? Well that will be interesting. We’ll be able to see just how the Dark Lord’s school measures up to our own, huh Hadrian?”

“It will certainly be interesting to see what their students are like.” Hadrian rubbed a hand along his chin, “Most of them would have grown up under his reign. I wonder how that has affected them.”

“You make it sound like they have all contracted some horrible disease for living under him.” Jacob commented. Hadrian shot his friend an amused grin even as his thoughts rolled.

He is a disease on this world. Hadrian thought harshly. The sooner he is dead, the sooner lives will stop being ruined by his madness.

But he let nothing of his vicious thoughts slip into his expression. Éric and Jacob might not have much love for Voldemort, but they respected the man’s power and influence. It would not do well to start projecting his abhorrence when he would have to be in the heart of his enemy’s territory for almost an entire year.

“Do you know how the champions will be chosen?”

Éric shot him a probing look at the question. “Malfoy mentioned using an impartial judge to pick the ‘most worthy’ students to participate. We were not told too much about it, other than students would nominate themselves, and then three would be chosen based on this artefact’s opinion.”

An inkling of a plan began to form at the edges of Hadrian’s mind. If that was all it took to become champion, all he had to do was not nominate himself. If he was not listed as a candidate, then he could not be chosen.

Could it really be that simple? He almost laughed in relief. He would have to wait to find out exactly what the artefact was, but if he could find out its properties then he would just have to work around them. He was smart, he could do this.

There was a second knock at the door, which had them all tensing again. The last interruption they had resulted in a very unwelcomed guest. The witch from before entered once again. “Forgive me for intruding again Lord Korin, but the councillors are gathering again to continue the session.”

Éric nodded and stood. Hadrian and Jacob, knowing they needed to leave now, followed him out of the office and back towards the barrier. Just before Éric was due to split from them, he turned and stared at them.

“I want you both to promise me that you will look after each other during the tournament, regardless of who Beauxbatons’ champion is.”

Startled at the sudden ferocity in the usually collected man’s tone, Hadrian could do nothing more than nod before Éric was swept away by the crowd. The two remained where they were for another several moments before Jacob tugged on Hadrian’s arm and they allowed themselves to drift towards the floo network.

The chatter from the crowd was much too loud for them to talk properly, but Hadrian knew Jacob was simply waiting to get him somewhere more private to start his ranting. No doubt the other was still miffed by Hadrian’s attitude towards Malfoy earlier.

They stepped into the first available hearth, and with a soft “Korin Manor” from Jacob, they were gone in a whirl of green flames.

OoO

Jacob, despite his annoyance at Hadrian’s mercurial attitude today, still could not stop the spark of amusement he got from watching his normally graceful friend stumble his way out of their fireplace. It had always mystified him how someone as agile as Hadrian managed to trip over himself with something as simple as floo travel.

His friend clearly spotted his humour for he got a sharp glare as the other boy brushed himself off in an attempt to regain some of his dignity.

Hadrian hardly waited for him to step out before he was striding away towards the sitting room. Jacob followed behind, preparing himself for the upcoming talk. He could already feel the rise of anticipation fluttering in his chest, the one he always got whenever he spoke to his friend.

There was something intoxicating about speaking with Hadrian. Because he could never fully predict just how his friend would react in any given situation. Hadrian was a confident individual, and people tended to naturally defer to him simply because of the way he projected himself.

He moved into the sitting room to see Hadrian already perched in an armchair. The sight gave him pause for a moment as he allowed himself to take in the delicious image of his friend causally reclining in front of him.

Jacob looked up in time to catch the sly glint in Hadrian’s beautiful green eyes. “I know I’m stunning to look at, but I’d rather get this over with so I can go home.”

He shared the smirk Hadrian tossed his way. “Right,” he agreed as he took a seat across from the other. “are you going to tell me what caused your little scene earlier? Or are you going to hide behind obscure answers and cryptic comments once again?”

It was said jokingly, but Jacob knew Hadrian had caught the underlining bitterness. He just did not understand why Hadrian refused to confide in him. They had been friends for almost three years at this point, and while Jacob was not naïve enough to delude himself into thinking having sex with Hadrian would in any way change their relationship, he had hoped it might be enough to bridge the gap between them that his friend’s secrets maintained.

He supposed the only consolation he got was that sometimes he could see how much Hadrian wanted to tell him these secrets. So maybe it was not for a lack of wanting, but more a lack of ability that led to Hadrian keeping his mouth shut.

Like now. He could see the battle going on in his friend’s mind.

“Does it have anything to do with your reaction to me telling you about the Triwizard Tournament?”

Sometimes Jacob wished Hadrian’s mask was not so efficient. Occasionally the other slipped, but he was still young and he had no doubt with time and age Hadrian would be a devastating force to behold.

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with Jacob.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” The words spilled forth, unbidden. They both froze, and Jacob knew he had overstepped his boundaries when he saw Hadrian’s eyes flash. He took a deep breath, secretly glad that the other at least was giving him a chance to explain himself before he lashed out. “I merely meant that you are my friend Hadrian, and if there is something going on with you – that caused you to do something as stupid as challenge Lucius Malfoy – then I reserve the right to be concerned.”

He watched, relieved, as the rage bled out of Hadrian’s eyes. In its place, a weariness appeared.

“Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not…afraid.” Hadrian breathed.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Why must you be so difficult?

“You wouldn’t understand Jacob. It involves some things I just can’t tell you about.” Hadrian was wavering. Jacob could see the fight leaving and resisted the urge to grin in triumph. He might actually get something out of Hadrian, after years of patiently waiting.

“Perhaps I could help? I might not be as intelligent or powerful as you, but I have resources. You are my closest friend; I’d be more than willing to assist you.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be,” Hadrian bit out, startling Jacob with his viciousness. Something harsh seemed to enter Hadrian’s eyes. “Don’t you get it? I’m dangerous, Jacob. And not in the way you think. I have things in my past that you cannot get involved with. Just drop this, I won’t warn you again.”

Jacob had to swallow the retort on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to break something to just get rid of the tension building in him. How could Hadrian not get it? Did he not see that Jacob might be able to help with whatever was troubling him, if only the stubborn bastard would let him?

It was not smart, this connection he had with Hadrian. He knew his father disapproved of how invested he was in the other boy as well.

In their society the only person you could trust was yourself. You could have acquaintances, allies, even friends on a rare occasion. But his level of familiarity with Hadrian was not something that should be encouraged. Because it was dangerous to care so much for someone not in your family. Having this friendship with Hadrian was a horrible weakness, and if he was not careful, it could be used to hurt him.

But even as all his logic demanded he hold the other at a respectable distance, a large part of him just wanted to be near the supernova that was Hadrian Evans. He would never go so far as to call it love – though he knew it would not be hard to go down that road – but Hadrian just had a way of bringing out a devotion in people. It made them want to be nearer to him, to have his approval and attention.

Jacob was glad Hadrian seemed to find this attitude people had towards him discomforting. Hadrian was not above using others to get his way, but if the other boy truly enjoyed controlling others then he would be terrifying.

“Fine,” he conceded. Mere seconds later he had his wand out and sent a curse flying at his friend.

The sickly yellow stream of magic hit Hadrian’s conjured shield that hovered mere inches from his body. Jacob wasted no time in leaping to his feet and sending a barrage of spells at Hadrian, who had also risen and seemed content to be on the defensive for now.

Around them, furniture began to splinter and burn marks littered the walls and floorboards from stray spells that did not quite hit their target. Jacob flung a blasting curse at the figure behind the glowing shield, and paused for a breath, taking the split-second break to readjust his grip on his wand.

It was in that moment Hadrian dropped his shield and attacked.

Breathtaking.

Literally, and figuratively Jacob mused as he was sent careening into the wall, winded.

Hadrian was talented in most subjects at school, had always excelled since the day he had glided into Beauxbatons’ halls. But there were still other students that provided him with a challenge in all of his subjects. Except one.

Duelling was an elective allowed from third year onwards. It focussed on using all that students learn from their various classes and teaches them to use this knowledge in battle. There were occasional theoretical lessons that looked at duelling styles, wand movements and such, but it was predominantly a practical-based class.

It was also the class Hadrian had dominated since fourth year. Even when they had been in fourth year no one had remained standing long when faced with Hadrian, not even the seventh years. It was the subject that had kick-started Hadrian’s notoriety and had become a school favourite for most – if only because it allowed them to watch a scrawny dark haired child mercilessly tear through the entire seventh year class within an hour.

Hadrian was a ruthless dueller, but he was infinitely graceful as well. No move was unnecessary or wasted. Jacob had heard their professors claim that Hadrian was such a methodical dueller because of his lack of flair, how he was so goal-orientated and did not stop planning until he had achieved victory.

And while that might be true in some aspect, Jacob much preferred to call Hadrian a passionate dueller. Because while he was as precise as a striking snake, there was an energy to Hadrian while he was submerged in a fight. Something feral that seemed to rise within the usually collected boy, and it was beautiful to witness.

“Any particular reason you decided to attack me?” Hadrian’s voice was soft, but there was an edge of biting humour to it that had Jacob grinning savagely up at him.

“You were being an uncooperative arsehole. I got annoyed.”

Hadrian snorted and knelt down to his level. A single black eyebrow raised. “Next time, I’d suggest not attacking someone who could have whipped you within the first few seconds. You need to fix your stance.”

With nothing more to say, Hadrian stood smoothly and began to make his way out into the hallway and back to the fireplace, leaving Jacob sprawled on the floor of a slowly repairing sitting room.

“I’ll beat you one day.” Jacob called half-heartedly after the other. He barely caught the chuckle, but heard the reply clearly.

“No you won’t.” There was a rush of flames, and then silence.

Jacob let his head rest against the floorboards – still warm from the lingering magic in the room – and smiled softly at the roof.

This was another reason he enjoyed Hadrian’s friendship. All it took to fix a problem between them was a duel, or – more recently – a good thorough fuck.

Chapter Text

Hadrian walked briskly down the hallway, just short of a run. The small holiday they had been given had quickly run out and now the year was really picking up in terms of schoolwork. The only difference this year had to all the others before it was the subtle thrum of energy that seemed to surround every student and teacher.

Hadrian hated it.

Everywhere he turned the Triwizard Tournament was on someone’s tongue. He never thought he would miss the inane conversation topics and scandals his classmates used to find so interesting.

But what he hated even more than the now official reviving of the tournament, were the eyes and whispers dogging his every step. It seemed most of Beauxbatons had already decided he would be their champion.

Well, he thought with a slightly bitter smirk, they are going to be disappointed. He had no intention of signing himself up for a death match between countries. It was bad enough he had to go as a representative.

In fact, that was where he was heading now. Two days ago he, as well as twenty-nine other seventh years were asked to attend a small meeting with their Headmistress. They were not told what the meeting was about, but considering everyone asked to attend were the top students in their year, it did not take a genius to put two and two together.

Still, it rankled him just how fast everything was progressing. Éric had assured him it would take almost a month to pressure Scandinavia to agree, and yet not two weeks after France folded, word of Scandinavia’s approval had reached them. Hadrian had thought he would have more time to prepare himself for his inevitable return to his birth country – and now he was becoming agitated.

He was almost positive Voldemort was somehow behind Scandinavia’s severe lack of fight.

Hadrian quickly scaled a staircase and took a left, his destination coming up.

The Headmistress had chosen one of Beauxbatons’ duelling halls to host the meeting, given the size of her audience.

The white door was already ajar when he reached it, and he could make out the buzz of multiple voices just inside. Clearly he would be one of the last to arrive. His lips thinned.

Without further ado, Hadrian slipped into the hall and kept himself close to the marble wall. A quick scan of the room allowed him to spot Claire and Raina. He wasted no time in sliding up next to them.

“And here I was hoping you had died.” Raina stated bored, not even bothering to turn her head to look at him.

“And miss a chance to torment you with my presence?” Hadrian tugged on her braid with just enough force to snap her head back. Raina shot him a look, murder in her eyes.

He grinned at her.

“Go to hell Evans.” she hissed.

“Oh sweetheart, out of the two of us, you would be more at home there.”

“What are you two bickering about now?” Claire snapped.

“Merely how I cannot wait for Raina to shed her mortal skin and re-join the other demons in their fiery kingdom.” Hadrian smirked and turned back to the girl in question. “Tell me honestly, does it hurt pretending to be human? Craving the souls of the innocent lately?”

Raina rolled her eye. “You are such an arsehole Evans.”

“I’m hilarious.” The two girls shared a glance at his response, amused at how certain he sounded.

He could practically see the scathing response on the tip of Raina’s tongue, but whatever delightful comment she wanted to make was cut off by the sound of the door opening fully. As one, all the students present straightened to attention with the swiftness of those who had years of experience.

Hadrian watched as their Headmistress glided down the path the students created for her. For such a tall woman, her gracefulness would be momentarily surprising to anyone not accustomed to the sight. Hadrian could still remember the first time he had seen Madame Maxime in person, and with amusement recalled how he had had to crane his neck back to even glimpse at her face.

To an average sized man she would be several heads taller. To a scrawny eight year-old she positively towered.

Madame Maxime smiled down at them once she reached the small raised platform usually reserved for the presiding referee of a duel. She hardly needed the extra boost to her height, but Hadrian supposed it was just a formality.

“My students,” she began, the sweet words filling the air like a caress. “I am positive that at this point you would have deduced why we are here?”

No one nodded or spoke to confirm her words, it was rhetorical question after all. Only an idiot would not have figured it out, and it was safe to say that if one were an idiot they would not be present for this meeting in the first place.

“The Triwizard Tournament has been restarted, and as it once was, our prestigious academy will be competing.” Her sharp dark eyes trailed over them with all the intensity of a lioness. “It goes without saying that you are the best of Beauxbatons. And with this title comes a responsibility to your academy.”

Madame Maxime ran one hand over the fur collar of her dress. “You will be sent to Britain as our representatives. As such I expect you all to hold yourselves with the respect and dignity befitting students of Beauxbatons.”

Such simple words. But Hadrian could feel his classmates bolstering under Madame Maxime’s speech. He wondered if he too would be brimming with the same excitement at the prospect of being a champion, if he was not slowly filling with anxiety over the whole event. He liked to think he was smart enough to see passed the ephemeral promises of glory.

“While at Hogwarts I expect you to maintain your studies to the highest degree, especially in joint classes. We must show those…lummoxes what proper wizarding students look like.” A ripple of laughter echoed through the room, and despite the break in their expected demeanour Madame Maxime did not reprimand they for it.

Her comment stirred a thought. Hadrian could not help but be curious as to what the curriculum at Hogwarts was like, how it differed from what he learned at Beauxbatons. Obviously their different culture would have an impact, with them placing more or less value on certain subjects depending on its weight in their society. It will be fascinating to see how the differences influenced the students as well.

“It’s going to be you.” Raina murmured to him. Hadrian blinked and shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye, surprised the girl was talking to him. Their relationship was tempestuous at best, and downright vicious when they clashed over something. He was well aware that the only reason they even interacted as much as they did was their close ties to Claire. Claire had latched onto him a few years ago, and Raina – as Claire’s closest friend – put up with his presence if only to keep her friend happy.

Hadrian and Raina had just never clicked. They tolerated each other, respected each other, but beyond that there was nothing more than the desire to crush the other.

With a careful glance around them, and half an ear paying attention to the Headmistress as she continued to speak, he leaned slightly towards her. “Not necessarily. There are plenty of worthy students here.”

The look she levelled at him was both disbelieving and scornful. “We might be the best, Evans. But you are the best of us. It is almost cruel of Madame Maxime to get our hopes up.” Raina tilted her chin towards the other students. “There might be plenty of worthy candidates to be our champion, but compared to you?”

There was a flicker of envy and weary resignation in her eyes. “Compared to you we do not stand a chance.”

Raina was a powerful witch – probably one of the closest challenges he had in their year – and she was exceedingly prideful. Admitting this to his face had probably felt quite similar to conceding to defeat.

He thought carefully about how to best respond to her without rousing any suspicions as to his plans. That was the last thing he needed right now. “I may be powerful and intelligent,” there was no arrogance in his voice, just cool fact. “but it takes more than that to be the champion. It is foolish to discount everyone else.” He sent her a sharp look. “Especially yourself.”

Content that he had put the matter to rest Hadrian tuned back into his Headmistress’ speech.

“– champion is one of you. We must present a united front to the other schools. Regardless of who is chosen, I do not doubt that you will all do whatever it takes to support our champion.” Hadrian felt a grin kick up the edges of his mouth.

Blatant permission to cheat if we have to. How sportsmanlike.

But his humour fell flat when a tightness entered Madame Maxime’s elegant face.

“I will not lie, my students. This contest is exceedingly dangerous, and the threat of death will hang like a shadow over our champion. Do not make light of this decision. There is an expectation for you to nominate yourselves, but I tell you now that there is no shame in not doing so.” Something soft smoothed over the harshness of her face.

It seems Éric was not lying after all. Some do not fully agree with the tournament.

Hadrian was slightly comforted by the fact that Madame Maxime appeared to be disillusioned to the hype. She, at least, appeared to understand the severity of the situation; and the fact that she felt the need to explicitly highlight the danger facing them was one of the reasons Hadrian held her in such high esteem.

“In one week we will depart for Hogwarts, please ensure you have sufficiently prepared yourselves and include all necessary pieces of school work. For those of you taking subjects not provided at Hogwarts, I will be holding classes and assessing you. That is all.”

At her dismissal, all the students gave a short, respectful bow before trickling to the exit. Hadrian moved with Raina and Claire, and spotted Jacob ahead of them already slipping through the door with a few other boys.

“Mr. Evans.” Hadrian paused and pivoted to see Madame Maxime gesturing for him. Raina and Claire had both stopped as well, the three of them acting like a stone in a river as the other students flowed around them.

Hadrian noted more than a few of his peers were staring curiously at him. No doubt they were wondering why he was being called back, or perhaps they were expecting him to be.

Without a word to Claire – it appeared Raina had already let herself be swept away – he strode back towards his Headmistress. The enormous woman smiled kindly down at him, somehow not making him feel like a child despite their ridiculous height difference.

He came to a stop in front of her and dipped his head in respect. It was not necessarily a rule to do so for the Headmistress, but Madame Maxime was the type to inspire such admiration without actively trying.

“‘adrian,” she greeted, her French accent sounding impossibly thick now that she had switched to English. “‘ow ‘ave you been?”

“I have been well Headmistress,” in contrast, his own accent only had a tinge of French – a by-product of being raised by someone with a British accent. “is there something you wished to speak about?”

Madame Maxime inclined her head. “Indeed. Come, we will walk and talk.”

He fell into step beside her, politely held the door open for her, and remained silent as they slowly moved through the marble hallways. Hadrian did not know if they had any destination in mind or if Madame Maxime simply desired to travel aimlessly while they spoke.

It was not the first time Hadrian had been asked to speak privately with the Headmistress. Ever since his fourth year – where his skills really began to outclass his peers – Madame Maxime had taken an interest in him. She often took the time to inquire after him, whether it be his classwork, his mother’s health or discussions about where he would go in the future.

He knew what this one would be about though.

“I ‘ad ‘oped to speak to you about the tournament before we departed.” She began. “I am sure you are aware ‘ow…favourably your classmates view you, no?”

“You mean their belief I will be the champion?” He could not help the small trace of wiriness. “It has not escaped my notice.” He looked up at her in time to catch sight of the small smile on her face, before it was wiped away.

“You may not ‘old the same assurance, but even you must see ‘ow likely your chances are?”

He let out a small sigh. “I admit there is a strong possibility I could be chosen, but I refuse to let that cloud my mind. Just because I might be chosen, does not mean I will be.”

Madame Maxime conceded to that with a dignified nod. “Of course, ‘adrian, of course.” She stopped suddenly, prompting him to as well. They stood facing each other in an empty hallway for a few moments, a tenseness building in the air.

Finally, the Headmistress reached out and gently gripped his chin with her fingers.

“Is it selfish of me to pray you are chosen?” She had slipped back into French, her words so soft he almost missed them. But they froze him nevertheless. “This tournament was absurdly dangerous centuries ago, and I fear that it will only be worse now.”

She must have seen his confusion because she was carrying on in seconds. “I know you are not foolish. You know who is behind this.” Her fingers slipped away from his skin and her hand fell to her side.

Hadrian hesitated before speaking. “Lord Voldemort.”

The woman breathed harshly. “A man renowned for his cruelty and power. I have no doubt that the tasks will be horrible for the champions to endure; but that is why I wish it to be you.” Her dark eyes scanned his face. “Out of all my students I feel you are the most prepared to face these challenges. You are one of the strongest young wizards I have encountered, and I do not only mean your magical abilities.”

The woman gazed at him with such sincerity that it was almost unnerving.

“I speak of your character. You are a wilful young man, and possess a resilience hard matched. That, more than anything, is why I wish our champion to be you. Because I know you would be able to overcome the challenges, and have the most chance of surviving without any…damages.”

Hadrian remained quiet, though his thoughts raced with the force of a hurricane.

Madame Maxime seemed to understand his need to be alone because she grasped his shoulder to squeeze it comfortingly before brushing passed him.

OoO

That night Hadrian lay awake in his bed.

Am I being selfish?

His conversation with Madame Maxime had rattled something in his brain. He did not like the path his thoughts were travelling down, because he could already see the conclusion he would reach if he let himself stray.

I am protecting my mother and I from a far greater threat. He reasoned.

But at the expense of your classmates? You would willingly sacrifice one of their lives just avoid the chance you might be discovered? How proud your father would be of you. Another part of him whispered slyly.

He is dead. I doubt he is feeling much of anything right now. And there is no guarantee that the Beauxbatons champion would be killed if I did not nominate myself. Your point is flawed.

Ah, but we both know you would be consumed by guilt if such a thing happened. The voice almost sounded amused. All those treacherous ‘what-ifs’ and ‘could-have-beens’ would begin to creep in. For someone so adamant about keeping your ‘friends’ out of your travesty of a life, you are remarkably content to throw them into danger.

That is not what this is! If I became champion I would be under intense scrutiny, and the last thing I need is people paying more attention to me than necessary. I cannot risk the chance that Voldemort would become suspicious. I cannot risk everything we have worked for being destroyed. Besides, I can still offer support to the champion and help prepare them accordingly for each task. It is not like I would abandon them to death!

The other voice was silent, and Hadrian could not tell if that was a good thing or not. All he knew was the words rang heavily in his ears, and he could not seem to shake the oily sensation of selfishness that seemed to cling to him.

A muffled noise snapped him from his thoughts and he turned his head to see Jacob watching him from his bed. The other boy’s eyes were half-lidded and glazed with drowsiness, but aware and fixated on him.

“What’s wrong?” the other questioned softly, shuffling so he was on his side facing Hadrian. His hair was tussled and stuck out at odd angles, and the sight made something warm spread in Hadrian’s chest. It was times like this he was glad they were split into pairs for their rooms.

“Nothing Jacob, go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” He could see that the longer they spoke the sharper his friend’s eyes became. He had no desire to talk about what was troubling him – that would just lead to another argument between them.

So he put on a smile for Jacob, a small soft thing. “I’m fine Jacob. I just have a lot on my mind.” Under his duvet he waved his hand and sent a wandless, nonverbal sleeping spell at the other. It had hardly any magic behind it – not enough to completely knock Jacob out, but just enough to make the urge to sleep seem a little more insistent than it was.

Jacob hummed something as his eyes fluttered closed and Hadrian sighed, refocussing his gaze to the white roof above him. Jacob would thank him in the morning for giving him a restful night.

He would have to write to his mother, let her know when they would be leaving and to inform her of his plan to avoid becoming champion. He would do that in the morning though, during his first free period when he had time to sit down and properly construct it.

The thought of his mother just stirred another aggravated trail of thoughts to his head. They had left on a bad note, and now he would not get a chance to see her until after the tournament ended and he returned to France. Which meant months away from her with limited communication. Because while Hadrian doubted it would be difficult to write to his mother while he was in Britain, he did not want to chance having his mail intercepted or monitored in any way that could reveal something crucial.

Enough, I will deal with this in the morning. He forced himself to stop thinking and rest so he would be prepared for tomorrow’s classes.

OoO

Almost the entire academy had come to see them off. Hadrian could see the mass of blue-clad bodies below them clogging up the main garden.

It was predawn right now, painfully early for even them to be awake and trudging up the side of a mountain. Late last night their luggage had already been transferred into their carriage, a small mercy as far as he was concerned. He only wished they had not already positioned the carriage on the runway, which was far above the school.

“I do not see why we cannot just use portkeys to get there.” Claire grumbled from his left. Hadrian huffed a chuckle and held out a hand to help her steady herself. The path they were walking had long ago been worn smooth, but that just made it more difficult to walk on the higher up they went. Already, a few had slipped.

Claire accepted his hand with a grateful smile and together they moved the last few metres into the cave mouth. Instant relief at having reached the runway rose. Hadrian tugged his friend after him as they moved towards the carriage itself.

It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The soft blue colour with golden highlights, craved to magnificent detail with all manner of magical creatures. On each door was Beauxbatons coat of arms.

“They are beautiful.” Claire whispered. Hadrian followed her gaze to the Abraxans already connected to the carriage with their harnesses. And she was right. The magical horses were simply stunning to see, even as they pawed the ground and were clearly agitated at being trapped in such a confining space.

Soon enough they were able to climb into the carriage and were welcomed to the sight of an expansive lounge room filled with lush seats, thick carpets and a roaring fireplace that was already ablaze and filling the carriage with warmth. The interior was remarkably similar to the academy itself, even down to the palette of soft blue, stark white and gold.

It felt like home.

“Hadrian!” The call snapped his eyes over to Jacob, who was waving for him to join him by the entrance to a hallway.

He gave a small squeeze to Claire’s hand before letting it go and making his way to Jacob. The other boy was grinning at him. “You must see our rooms, they’re fantastic.” Was all he said before grabbing Hadrian’s arm and pulling him down the hallway, which was lined with beautifully painted doors.

“I have already taken the liberty of claiming one for us, and our luggage is already inside.” Jacob pushed open one of the doors and stepped aside to allow Hadrian full view of the room. It certainly was as impressive as the rest of the carriage. It reminded Hadrian vividly of their dorm rooms, only far grander.

The two beds were gorgeously decorated with blue sheets and more pillows then he thought necessary. Hadrian made his way to the one without wrinkles – clearly Jacob had already taken it upon himself to claim the other one – and smoothed his hand over the material. Silk.

Taking a seat on the edge of his bed Hadrian swept his curious gaze over the rest of the room. The walls were white, with the occasional splash of gold, and he could pick out several decorative carvings in the pieces of furniture.

Intricate vine patterns along the bed frames and headboard. Images of faeries on the dressers – looking far more innocent then they were in reality. Winged horses on the desks – so realistic they almost seemed to be moving in the dark mahogany.

It was a beautiful room, open and light, and he noted briefly the magnificent glass chandelier hanging from the roof.

He wondered how stunned someone who had not grown up surrounded by this type of extravagance would be. It seemed his years at Beauxbatons had dulled his perceptions a little, if he was hardly fazed.

“What’s through there?” he asked, gesturing to a separate door. Jacob waved his hand dismissively.

“Bathroom.”

Hadrian had no doubt the bathroom was just as – if not more – luxurious then the bedroom. He would explore it later when he showered. Instead, he let gravity have its way with him and fell backwards, bouncing slightly as he hit the mattress. Jacob made a soft noise from where he stood and Hadrian bit down a grin.

It seemed gravity was not the only one that wanted to have its way with him. “When are we leaving?” he asked quietly, feeling slightly drowsy now that he was on a comfortable surface after being forced to wake up before dawn. His eyes slipped closed.

“No clue. I would imagine soon though if we want to get there reasonably early.”

Hadrian hummed. He could hear Jacob rummaging around for something but did not bother opening his eyes.

He was forced to move though when something heavy landed on his stomach. He grunted and reflexively shot up while Jacob chuckled at him. Hadrian glared at him, and retaliated by hooking his ankle around his friend’s and jerking it out from under him.

With a curse Jacob tumbled backwards into his own bed, complete with flailing arms. “Arsehole.” the other boy spat, looking distinctly ruffled.

“Bastard.” Hadrian snipped back, turning his eyes to the thing Jacob had dropped on him. It was a red leather-covered book that had no title. “What’s this?”

Jacob shrugged, “My father asked me to give it to you, sent it along late last night. I didn’t look.”

Hadrian cocked a single black eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?” Éric would hardly give him something without there being some meaning behind it. Jacob shrugged and lounged back on his bed.

“Probably.”

“As helpful as always.” Hadrian muttered. He picked up the book and turned it over and over in his hands, debating what it could be. He finally opened it, flipping through the worn papers and seeing a majority of it was handwritten notes, with the occasional diagram. He paused on one and studied the detailed sketch of a creature.

He racked his brain and quickly supplied a name to it. Nundu. One of the most dangerous creatures in their world. He flipped some more and came across a drawing of a Hungarian Horntail.

Acromantula.

Demetor.

Manticore.

Quintaped.

Why would he send me a book on dangerous creatures? Hadrian thought with a confused frown.

“So?” Jacob prompted airily from where he was staring at the ceiling.

“I’m not sure.” Hadrian murmured, eyes running over the notes rather than the pictures themselves. From what he could see there were pages of information on each creature, from their strengths and weaknesses, to myths – both magical and muggle – involving the creatures.

He finally went to the first page, where he found a short jotted note in Éric’s elegant writing.

For the future. Take care.

Hadrian almost snorted. How incredibly cryptic of the man. Of course it would have been too difficult for Éric to explain himself.

There were three sharp knocks at the door, and Hadrian snapped the book shut. He could hear Claire calling for them. “Madame Maxime is aboard and everyone is accounted for. We are leaving in a moment. Come and see the take off.”

“I guess that’s our cue, come on.” Jacob let out a quiet grunt as he stood and made his way to their door. Hadrian took a moment to slide the book under one of his pillows for later perusal before he went to join his friends.

Everyone was gathering around the windows, no doubt exhilarated to see their take off. Hadrian only felt a small stirring of wonder, the joy he always got whenever he witnessed impressive feats of magic. But it was heavily shadowed by the feeling of dread.

In only a short amount of time he would be at Hogwarts, the very heart of Voldemort’s territory. He would be surrounded by his enemies, in constant danger and unable to communicate with his mother. He was smart, and knew he could get through this, but the reality of the situation was still suffocating.

And in a small, insignificant part of his mind there was the ever swirling curiosity. Hadrian had always ignored it, content to instead focus on his hatred. Now though…

He was going to finally meet Voldemort. The man that had always been a part of Hadrian’s life, an obstacle he would have to overcome, a threat he would have to neutralise. Sometimes, when he was younger, Hadrian had often wondered if the man was even real, he just seemed so untouchable.

And despite everything, that curiosity remained. He wanted to see the man, to know what made him tick. It was a dangerous thought he never shared with his mother – one of the only things he kept from her – because he knew how she would react.

So instead he focussed on the hatred that was always within easy reach. It boiled under his skin.

His hands clenched into fists behind him as he watched Claire and Jacob take up a position by another window, talking loudly with excitement. Their voices became a buzz in his ear as his breathing became harsh. He embraced it and allowed it to replace the curiosity.

He would finally meet the man that murdered his father, the man that had so royally fucked up his life by targeting their little family so many years ago. And he would not be able to do anything about it.

He would have to avoid notice, keep his head down and not misstep as he had with Malfoy. He could not afford a mistake, because while he had managed to divert Malfoy, he knew without a doubt that if he slipped in front of Voldemort he would be finished.

OoO

“My Lord.”

Crimson eyes leisurely trailed over to the bowing figure. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Lucius.” His gaze easily picked the shiver that ran through the man’s body at his voice.

The blond man straightened, cautiously, as if unsure he was allowed. The respect and fear that swathed the pureblood was as amusing as always. He turned back to his book and leaned his cheek on his fist, picking up from where he had left off.

Lucius waited, head slightly bowed as he waited for his Lord to address him. If it were anyone else Lucius would have been offended at being made to wait, especially seeing as he was the one summoned. But Lord Voldemort did as he pleased, and if he wished for Lucius to stand quietly off to the side while he read, then Lucius would do so.

Minutes rolled by until finally, Lucius heard the soft sound of the book closing and his Lord standing. He peeked through his eyelashes to watch the man smooth down his robes and walk towards the wall lined with bookshelves.

Long, pale fingers danced across the titles before they rested on a gap and slid the book back into its place. “What do you have to report?”

Lucius raised his chin to stare directly at the man.

“My Lord, we have received word from both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. They are on their way and should arrive within the hour.”

He could make out the satisfied gleam that entered those mesmerising red eyes, and felt a jolt of pleasure at being the bearer of good news for his Lord. He did not know the real reason behind his Lord’s decision to revive the Triwaizard Tournament, or if there even was some ulterior motive, some grand scheme already in motion.

Lucius doubted he would be told if there was, or at least not a moment sooner than his Lord wanted him to know.

“Excellent, I am pleased.” His mark thrummed in agreement to those words and the sense of euphoria flooded him, clogging his mind. “Were there any complications during your trip?”

His Lord had moved to his desk and was shuffling through a number of pieces of parchment. It seemed he already moving on to other matters.

Lucius shook off the lingering pleasure and replayed the question in his head. Unwillingly, a flash of burning green crossed his mind, as well as a voice.

“What’s your name, child?”

“Curious?”

Obviously his delayed response did not escape his Lord’s notice, and Lucius once again found himself under the scrutiny of the powerful man. There was an intensity to the crimson gaze, and for a brief moment Lucius wondered if the man had used legilimency.

He cleared his throat.

“There were a few politicians that rose complaints, but I was able to…persuade them to see reason. Only one required a more personal visit.”

“Which one?”

“Éric Korin, my Lord.”

Amusement bled into the man’s expression. “Ah, yes. I had forgotten Lord Korin had joined the French Council. I trust you handled the man surreptitiously.”

“Indeed, my Lord.” He paused, considering. “I believe Korin’s son, Jacob, will be attending the Tournament.”

His Lord had returned to his papers. “And? What impression did young Mr. Korin give you, Lucius? Is he ‘champion’ material?” There was an odd tone to his Lord’s voice, something mocking. It gave Lucius pause as he tried to decipher it, but he pushed on.

“I did not get the opportunity to speak to the boy. There was…” he forcibly stopped himself from mentioning the second child. He doubted his Lord would be interested in hearing about an arrogant mudblood, one that stupidly questioned the man. “There was no time.” He amended when he realised the break in his sentence was too obvious to be brushed off.

His Lord spent a moment to watch him closely, as if he knew there was something he was holding back. Once again an image of the boy slipped to the front of his mind.

His Lord blinked and hummed. “Very well, that will be all Lucius. Please ensure that the students and staff are gathered at the appropriate time, as well as the dignitaries. We must provide a warm welcome to our guests.”

Lucius bowed and left the room.

Voldemort waited until the man had left the office before leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers and frowning lightly. He closed his eyes and brought up the image he had managed to pluck from Lucius’ shielded mind.

It was a child, roughly sixteen, though he could be younger. Dark tussled hair and bright green eyes. He had no idea why this child was on Lucius’ mind, but if he had to guess he would say the boy had been present during the meeting with Korin.

With a considerate hum, he pushed the image away and focussed back on the reports on his desk. He had a significant amount of work to complete before he had to attend the arrival of the other two schools.

Something troubled him though, a sense of familiarity he felt when he saw the brief flashes of Lucius’ memories.

OoO

“Hadrian.”

He glanced up from the book Éric gave him to see Claire looking at him as if he had somehow failed all of her expectations at once. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

The part veela sighed from her place by the window. “Drag your nose out from that book for a moment and come here.” Annoyed that she was breaking his attempt to forget his looming doom, but knowing the girl would simply become more insistent and distracting if he ignored her, he went over to her.

He stopped next to her and waited expectantly. Claire rolled her eyes and forcibly turned him to face the window, “Look.” she ordered sternly.

Humouring her, Hadrian turned his gaze to the countryside he could see zooming passed beneath them. They had crossed into Scotland not too long ago, and he knew they would be coming up to their destination soon.

“Not down, you idiot.” Claire snapped. She pointed further along, more towards the horizon. Heaving a sigh, as if she were a demanding child and he the obliging adult, he followed to where she pointed.

And promptly lost the ability to breathe.

Because he could see it.

“Hogwarts.” He whispered.

Before them was an enormous body of water, glistening in the rising sunlight and bathing the ancient castle on the mountainside in a beautiful array of pink and gold. Each window was like a shining diamond thanks to the reflexive light and simply added to its splendour.

Instantly, he felt all his anxiety drop away. It did not matter that his worst nightmare dwelled in that castle, it did not matter that he was about to be in constant danger.

Nothing seemed to matter as he watched the beautiful image grow larger until he could clearly see all of it in perfect detail.

“It is no Beauxbatons,” Claire murmured in his ear, leaning against him. “but there is something striking about it, isn’t there?” Her blue eyes switched between looking at Hogwarts, and looking at Hadrian. She felt a smile tug at her lips at how enraptured he was.

He is as remarkable as the castle. She thought privately.

She had noticed how withdrawn Hadrian had been acting since returning from their holiday. She also knew there was no way he would tell them what was bothering him. She briefly wondered if it was his mother. Hadrian rarely mentioned anything about his home life, it had taken them almost three years to find out his father was dead.

Claire still remembered their first year at Beauxbatons, the joy at finally being able to move from the junior school and into the official academy. She remembered how everyone had their parents there to wish them luck, and how Hadrian had stood alone the entire morning.

Claire remembered asking him where his parents were, and how simple Hadrian’s response had been.

“My father’s dead, and my mother couldn’t make it.”

She wanted to ask him what had happened, if he had had a fight with his mother, or if there was something else affecting him. However, every time she opened her mouth the words died in her throat.

Hadrian did not talk about his personal life. She doubted he would reveal anything now.

So instead she sighed and wrapped her arms around him, trying to impart to him her silent support. He was still gazing reverently out at the castle but she could feel the tension bleeding out of him the longer they stood like this.

She did not want to think about how chaotic their lives were about to become. Claire knew there was a high possibility Hadrian’s name would be called as their champion. There was barely any contest between Hadrian and the rest of them, so who else could it be?

The thought that her friend’s life would be in danger left her feeling cold and made her want to hide him away from this entire tournament. The only comfort she had was that Hadrian was exceptional, and he would have the support of Beauxbatons best. Even if he did not win the tournament, she would be there to ensure he came out at the end alive and safe.

“Attention.” Claire blinked as Madame Maxime’s voice rang out all throughout the carriage. Hadrian broke away from her, and they turned to see their Headmistress standing in the middle of the lounge room. Slowly, all of them emerged from wherever they had wandered and gathered in front of the formidable woman.

“We will be landing in a matter of minutes, I expect you all to be prepared and properly dressed for our arrival.” Here, Madame Maxime’s dark eyes pointedly lingered on some of the students who had either removed their school blazers, or were looking a touch rumpled.

Claire heard Hadrian’s sigh and glanced at him. There was a grimace on his face. He looked as if Madame Maxime had just handed him a death sentence.

“Be here in five minutes, and pair up. We are to be greeted by the British dignitaries and,” Madame Maxime halted, “the Dark Lord.”

Claire felt her heartbeat quicken. To think that someone as powerful as the Dark Lord would be in front of them, so soon. It would be absolutely incredible to see the man in person. Surely everyone would be feeling the same burst of nervous excitement she felt in that moment.

If she had looked at Hadrian, she would have seen that not everyone did.

Chapter Text

Hadrian smoothed down the lapels of his blue Beauxbatons blazer and used the moment to take a measured breath. The carriage had landed not one minute ago and he could feel the turmoil in his emotions. It was maddening that he had not even set foot on Hogwarts’ soil and already he felt like he had failed.

Gods, his hands were trembling.

Hadrian let his arms drop to his side and clenched them until the tremors dissipated. He felt disgusted at himself for allowing his fear to have such control over him, but bitterly acknowledged that this would hardly be the last time he felt this way.

The knowledge that the Dark Lord was just outside their carriage made him nauseous. The thought that he would be so close to the monster for almost an entire year prompted him flee towards the back of his assembled peers in a childish attempt to prolong the inevitable.

He did not feel even remotely prepared despite having been raised under his mother’s careful tutelage and having experience dancing verbally with many influential figures in France. Then again, Hadrian have never dealt with anyone quite like Voldemort before, so maybe he would never be fully prepared.

How utterly depressing.

Someone brushed against him, drawing his attention effortlessly. Raina watched him closely with an expression that spoke of how little she wanted to be anywhere near him. She held out a delicate hand to him and waited.

He gave her a light grimace. “Can’t we switch?” he asked even as he gently grasped her hand and guided it to wrap around his elbow.

“Stop being a child,” she snapped, tightening her grip on his arm. Hadrian briefly thanked the designer of their blazer for making it so thick, otherwise he was sure Raina’s harpy claws would be sinking into his skin right now. “everyone else has paired. And they are hardly claws.”

Hadrian blinked, “Did I say that out loud?”

Raina scoffed but did not answer him, and Hadrian felt a small wisp of amusement when he realised that while Raina had denied the comment on her nails being claws, she did not debunk his ‘harpy’ jab.

He wondered whether that was intentional or not.

“How are you feeling?” she inquired instead, sounding for the most part disinterested.

Her question gave him pause as he considered exactly what he was feeling. There was a whole storm brewing inside of him right now, and no amount of harmless banter could fully distract him from it. Hadrian had always been an emotional person, he simply had impeccable control over himself most of the time that it was rarely noticed.

He contemplated lying to Raina, playing it casual and deflecting, but there was hardly any benefit to it. So he went with the truth.

“Nervous.” He said bluntly, and was rewarded with a look of shock from his female partner. “Angry, I suppose or rather, annoyed. Excited.” The last word came out a little mangled he was sure, since he had not meant to even say it. He paused again before giving Raina one last one. “Scared.”

There was none of the usual mocking in her gaze. If anything, she seemed fascinated at his honesty. “Why are you scared?” She looked genuinely curious and Hadrian felt no harm in sharing his thoughts with the girl.

“Think about it, there is a high chance one of us is going to be dead by the end of the year. Someone that we have grown up with is about to be put in a ridiculous amount of danger because of a figurative pissing match between ministries. I just find it,” he searched for the correct word, “prejudicial for everyone.”

“How so?”

Hadrian gave a shrug. “There is a whole list of things that could go wrong, incidents that could virtually destroy our international relationships. The number one being the death of a champion. There are so many precautions being put in place to ensure the champions do not die, but these challenges are still going to be dangerous. The death of a champion would have so much political backlash. Especially if it is either ours or Durmstrang’s, because Minister Malfoy’s whole speech to revive this hinged on the protection of the champions.”

He smiled bitterly, “People like to watch life-threatening and thrilling events right up until someone dies. It might not the eighteenth century anymore, but our nature hasn’t changed much. The only difference is we like to pretend to be better than we are. If one of the champions dies, people will be outraged, regardless of the fact that moments before they were heartedly condoning it.”

He shook his head and breathed a harsh laugh. “Hypocrisy at its best.”

“So you are scared because there is a chance of death, but also because of the ramifications of that death?”

Hadrian shrugged again, “I suppose so.”

Raina tilted her head in consideration, and Hadrian felt a jolt of surprise that they had managed to have a civil conversation for this long. Either Raina was terribly bored and was willing to use him as a form of mental stimulation, or she really was interested in what he was saying.

“I can see your point,” She said a few moments later, “it’s rather well thought out. Are you scared for yourself?”

“Why would I be scared for myself?”

Three sharp claps cut off whatever Raina was going to say as the two of them turned their attention to Madame Maxime who stood towards the front of their lines. “When we leave you will form three lines in front of the dignitaries and await further instruction. I expect you all to hold yourselves with poise.”

Without further ado, the carriage doors swung open and like a stream of water they were departing the carriage.

Hadrian felt his gut clench in fear. He wanted nothing more than to stop this entire travesty before it began and go back home.

However, he was too well trained to allow any of his unease to creep into his expression, so his footsteps never once faltered and his posture remained strong even though his heart was hammering and his magic humming just beneath his skin.

Hadrian closed his eyes just before he exited the carriage, taking the steps by memory and only opening them once he felt sunlight hit his face.

Wordlessly they formed into the requested three lines and stood quietly. Hadrian let his eyes roam over those assembled to greet them, unintentionally seeking out one in particular.

There.

Towards the side a tall figure stood cloaked in smooth black robes that, while plain and lacking some of the stylish embroidery some of the others had, somehow emphasised the man’s presence.

Hadrian had only ever seen photographs of the Dark Lord, most fleeting images of his features thanks to the hood he usually wore. But the black and white figures that had moved in the newspaper could not compare to the man in real life.

There was no drawn hood today, and for the first time in his life Hadrian was allowed an unobstructed view of his father’s murderer.

Voldemort was positively disturbing with his tall, skeletal body, bone-white hairless skin, flat nose and gleaming red eyes. He looked like a figure out of one’s worst nightmare, a monster made all the more terrifying because he was human.

Hadrian studied the figure as subtly as possible, scanning the man and taking in as many details as he could in this time. The sooner he put together an accurate idea of the man the easier this entire trip would be.

His mother had always told him observation was crucial when dealing with your enemies. The more you saw, the more you understood, the less likely you were to make mistakes. So he used his eyes.

The first impression he got from the Dark Lord was power, not that he was surprised at that. The very air around the man was practically saturated with his magic, projecting his presence to all and demanding attention. Hadrian could see he was not the only one watching Voldemort, nearly all the dignitaries were tilted in the man’s direction in a show of subconscious deference.

The arrogance he could see was expected as well. It ran along the Dark Lord’s limbs and showed in the casual, loose way he held himself. Powerful witches and wizards tended to be arrogant in some manner, the confidence their strong magic gave them often led to the development of superiority.

Hadrian himself had been victim to the emotion over the years, but always tried to keep a level head when regarding his own power. Because arrogance led to a sense of comfort and caused you to relax, assured that you could handle anything. Hadrian preferred to be alert constantly; it was tiring, certainly, but at least his cultured paranoia was better than being caught unawares.

He imagined it would be similar for Voldemort, who was wildly regarded as the most powerful magic-user in the world. Having so many people automatically accede to him would not exactly encourage the state of constant vigilance Hadrian tried to maintain.

Unless the arrogance was a front? To lull his enemies into believing his guard was lowered, when in reality he was fully aware of their movements? That certainly sounded more like a Dark Lord, though Hadrian was also positive the arrogance was entirely natural. So perhaps a mix, then.

Hadrian turned his attention to Voldemort’s face and carefully watched the man’s features as they moved. He studied the way those piercing red orbs slid over the small crowd and tried to see if he could place the flickers of emotions that shot through them.

No. He was too far away to get an accurate read. Perhaps…

Far too dangerous, he thought harshly even as the idea continued to niggle at his mind insistently. If I’m careful he won’t even notice, he licked his bottom lip in indecision. He could not deny that he was curious, and if he did tread lightly there was no guarantee that Voldemort would even feel it.

Though if he does catch me…

Gods dammit he could feel his insatiable curiosity roaring to life, warring against his caution. He could already see what would win.

So with a great deal of trepidation, Hadrian sent out a minuscule thread of magic to seek out the Dark Lord’s. Touching another’s magic sometimes allowed for a brief look at their emotional state, not unlike empathy. You could be as blank as a brick with your expressions and still your magic could give you away.

The only differences between this and empathy is that Hadrian had no means of manipulating another’s emotions through it, and could only read the surface feelings. An empath would be capable of reading all emotions being felt by the person and, if they were powerful enough, could sense these emotions without any magical or physical contact.

The only downside to this small ability was that it was an open channel. Hadrian had to be careful to not project his own emotions too strongly lest he alert his target.

It took an immense amount of concentration to control pure magic like this without an object to focus it but Hadrian had forced himself to master many forms of magical control – even ones that generally took decades of intense training.

The fact that he already had quite a good handle on controlling his magical core left him wondering – not for the first time – if he was a normal wizard. He had always learned better through practical methods, but even he knew his rate of advancing was not particularly normal.

What took his classmates weeks to master took him barely two days, spells came to him with frightening ease and he was well on his way to proficiency with his wandless magic.

He remembered back to when he was six, two years before he went to the Beauxbatons’ junior school. He had been raised in a muggle suburb and one afternoon on the playground he had created a small flame in his palm.

“You’re a freak.”

For the life of him he could not recall the boy’s name, or what he looked like, but those words had stayed with him. Maybe that boy had be correct in a way.

His thoughts tapered off when his magic brushed against the darkest force he had ever felt. Hadrian could not stop the violent shudder that went through him when the vibrations from that magic reached him. He barely registered Raina sending him a concerned glance he was so entranced by the well of dark power.

The faint connection allowed him to get a more in depth idea of the man’s emotions. Like a tsunami, boredom, distaste and frustration crashed into him, prompting Hadrian to rip his magic thread away for fear that he would crumple to the ground under the influence of that overwhelming energy.

He shifted in his place in a futile effort to relieve the sudden exhaustion that eclipsed him. What the fuck is happening? I’ve never felt like this before from doing that. He blinked slowly several times and forcibly pushed the feeling away by sending a shot of magic straight to his brain to jolt him awake.

Hadrian swallowed thickly now that he had a proper grip on himself and dared to glance at the Dark Lord to see if the man had noticed anything.

Fuck.

Those crimson eyes were fixated on him.

Fuck.

Hadrian locked eyes with Voldemort and immediately he was aware of an enormous pressure building in his head, like a headache. Frantically he snapped his occlumency shields into place and breathed in relief when the unpleasant sensation of invasion faded away.

He swiftly broke eye contact with the Dark Lord and resolved himself to never do something so unbelievably stupid as forming a magical connection with that man again.

The probing gaze was a heavy weight on him for the next few minutes, but Hadrian refrained from so much as twitching in the direction of the man. He had already made a horrendous mistake; he would not leave himself open to another mental attack just because he was beginning to feel like prey.

So instead he focussed on the short welcoming speech being given to them, absorbing every word but retaining only half of them. Because no matter how hard he concentrated his traitorous mind continuously flowed back to the amusement he had seen bloom in the Dark Lord’s eyes in their brief connection, and the way those bright red eyes had brazenly scanned him from head-to-toe.

OoO

Raina was staring at him.

Hadrian ignored her and continued to walk swiftly after a small group of dignitaries leading them to the castle. They were currently being escorted to some place where they would be required to sign a number of documents.

It was a formality, a legal requirement that basically showed they fully understood the implications of being a champion and their agreement to the tournament’s terms and conditions should they be chosen. It was hardly like the binding magical contract the champions would actually be under, this was merely a way for the British Ministry to cover their bases and avoid any possibility of being accused of not explicitly preparing them.

Raina was still staring at him.

“What?” he finally snapped, not entirely recovered from his brush with danger. The girl scoffed at him and shook her head in disbelief.

“You almost have some sort of seizure before and are going to just, what, pretend it did not happen?”

It was his turn to scoff. “Firstly, it was nothing. Secondly, if it was something I would hardly label it as a ‘seizure’. And thirdly, yes I will pretend it did not happen.” He pushed himself to walk faster to escape the other before she had a chance to start questioning him again.

“Lover’s spat, kid?”

Hadrian turned to look at the man he had unintentionally begun walking next to. He was young, most likely in his earlier thirties, and dressed in typical high-class politician garbs.

“I would not call her my ‘lover’, sir. Personal hell demon would be more accurate.” The politician chuckled delightedly as his comment, though gracefully left the topic alone. He held out a hand for Hadrian to shake.

“Arnold Abernathy.” He said with a quirky grin. Hadrian took his hand firmly and gave him a small smile in greeting.

“Hadrian Evans, it’s a pleasure.”

Abernathy seemed to find amusement in his words but did not say anything. Instead he gave Hadrian a quick once-over. “So Beauxbatons, huh? How’s it feel to be away from home?”

“It is an experience, that’s for sure. I’m sure Hogwarts will be just as magnificent on the inside as it is on the outside.”

Abernathy chuckled again, “Merlin kid, you’d make a heck of a politician if you answer everything so diplomatically.” The man waved his hand airily, the other tucked in his pocket. “Don’t know why anyone would want to be in politics though – far too many rules and regulations.”

Hadrian cocked his head to the side in interest. “Forgive me, but are you not a politician yourself?” His suspicions were aroused; this man did not speak like a politician. Hadrian caught a flicker of something in Abernathy’s eyes that merely increased his suspicion regarding the man.

“Well, I am, in a sense. No one important though like most of these people.” Abernathy laughed it off. “So, Hadrian, tell me about yourself, and France. Never been there myself but I’ve heard it is beautiful.”

What a clumsy topic change. Hadrian narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the man walking next to him. His request to hear about Hadrian might not be horribly suspicious, but to be so closely followed up with another, much broader question was odd. It was almost like he was trying to cover up the first question.

Either this man was a terrible conversationalist, or he was fishing for a reason. Hadrian’s question was why. He had done nothing to incur this man’s attention other than walk near him, and even that does not mean the man should feel obligated to talk to him.

Abernathy had been the one to speak to him, and he was the one trying to lead the conversation. If he had a purpose behind it Hadrian wanted to know what it was.

With casual ease he began telling Abernathy simple facts about France and Beauxbatons, avoiding bringing anything personal into his words and watching closely for the reactions he received. Abernathy listened intently to everything he said, as if he was attempting to commit it to memory, which really just sent more red flags up in Hadrian’s mind.

Whoever this man was, Hadrian told himself to not trust him in any way.

“Sounds absolutely fantastic,” Abernathy stated once Hadrian had finished describing a rough outline of the Beauxbatons’ gardens. The honest praise surprised him a bit, though it also pleased him. Hadrian took great pride in being from Beauxbatons, and always enjoyed when an outsider complimented his academy.

“I bet your siblings are looking forward to attending such a great school, then?”

Hadrian paused, weighing the pros and cons of answering a personal question. Finally, deciding it would be harmless he spoke. “I do not have any siblings, I’m afraid.”

“One of you too much for your parents?” Abernathy laughed, though there was a strange edge to it. Hadrian smiled coolly but did not bother to correct the man. He was not interested in bringing James Potter into the conversation, he found mentioning a dead parent more often than not lead to fake sympathies and made people uncomfortable.

“Something like that.” He said. Before the man could push for more – because Hadrian was not blind and this man had too keen a focus on him – he asked a question of his own in an attempt to catch the man off guard.

“So, Mr. Abernathy, tell me what you do in the Ministry.” Bright green eyes hungrily watched as a spark of unease flashed through the man’s plain brown ones. This man was certainly no politician, he had too many tells and holes in his mask. No self-respecting politician would be so easy to read.

Which begged the question, just who was this man?

“Oh, well, I work in finances. Manage a few pureblood properties and such. Write up some paperwork when I remember.”

“How fascinating.” Hadrian murmured, loud enough for only Abernathy to hear. He stepped closer to the man and, for the second time in the hour, stretched out a thread of magic to feel out the man’s emotions. Unlike with the Dark Lord, Hadrian was positive this man would not overwhelm him.

He was hit with a sense of strong fear and anger, but also a good deal of fascination, excitement and…affection? How odd. Hadrian withdrew and cut off the connection before the man noticed something.

They were quickly making their way towards a large entrance, the grass turning into stone. Hadrian shot his eyes up and around the towering structure and spotted a number of faces peering out of the countless windows. It was approaching midday at this point.

“Are you a graduate of Hogwarts, Mr. Abernathy?”

The man smiled genuinely and cast his gaze over the magnificent building as well. There was something wistful in his expression. “I am. It hasn’t changed a bit. Feels like just yesterday I was stumbling my way around with P – my friends.”

“Hadrian, get over here!”

Hadrian tossed a look over his shoulder to see Jacob and a few others gathered together. He snapped his gaze back to Abernathy to excuse himself, when the man waved a hand. “Go on, kid. Don’t let me keep you here. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

“Of course, it’s been a pleasure Mr. Abernathy.”

He spun on his heel and made his way to his friends. If he had turned around at all he would have seen the pensive expression that crossed the man’s pale features, or perhaps noted the way his hand seemed to curl around an object in his pocket.

Jacob slapped him on the shoulder when he got close enough, “Who was that?” Hadrian grunted but did not give his friend more than that.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nathaniel cut in with a heavy frown. “did you hear what they said? We have to give a performance. A performance! What do they expect us to do?” He sounded particularly offended.

“When did they say this?” Hadrian asked. He received several looks of disbelief from the other boys.

“During the speech that plump little man was giving, were you not paying attention?” Jacob tilted his head at him in interest. Hadrian shrugged and gave a little grin.

“Honestly, no. I make a note to only listen to people with voices that don’t make my ears bleed.” The others chuckled.

“How you are the top of our year I will never know,” Charles complained with a shake of his head. “I swear half the time you don’t even pay attention in our classes.”

“Well maybe if I had some decent competition I wouldn’t be bored.” Hadrian snipped back. Charles gave him a playful shove, muttering something suspiciously like ‘piece of shit’. He smirked at them all when his attention was caught by a second group moving into the ginormous entrance hall. His eyes landed on the Dark Lord immediately.

With a scowl he ripped his gaze away from the imposing man and clenched his fist. Now that he had touched that magic he seemed hyper aware to the man’s presence – and that was infuriating.

“A tad intimidating, isn’t he?” Jacob breathed in his ear, standing a little closer than strictly necessary to be heard. Hadrian could feel the other’s front brushing against his shoulder when he breathed. “He reminds me of a snake; I mean, look at that nose.”

Hadrian, despite the sudden churning in his gut, could not refrain from cracking a small smile at Jacob’s callous words. It was dangerous to speak like this of the man, especially with the Dark Lord only a few metres away; but Hadrian was tense enough that he was willing to appreciate any attempt at humour.

He leaned back slightly towards his friend. “Careful,” he whispered slyly, “just because his nose doesn’t work, doesn’t mean his ears are defective.”

And was it not horribly ironic that at that moment those red eyes landed on their group. In an instant Hadrian and Jacob leaned away from each other and projected the air of innocence that only teenagers were capable of.

A man spoke to Voldemort, and though those red eyes never faltered from them he must have replied, for the other moved off with purpose.

Gods, he’s coming this way. Hadrian struggled not to react the closer the man drew to their little group, and for one petrifying moment he thought Voldemort would try to talk to them. But it was an unwarranted fear.

Voldemort breezed past them without so much as a glance. Hadrian, who had the misfortune of being on the fringe of their group, held himself still and refused to step aside in submission. His small rebellion resulted in Voldemort’s arm brushing against his own. The fleeting touch left him shaken and ill even minutes later when they were being moved along to another room.

OoO

He leaned against the rough stone wall behind him, trying to find some balance between his raging emotions. His patience was already worn thin thanks to the three hours they had been forced to endure witches and wizards coming and speaking to them. Telling them what was expected of them while at Hogwarts, the rules, asking them to sign copious amounts of paperwork.

He was exhausted and it was only just the beginning of the night. He still had to concentrate for their upcoming entrance.

He was just overwhelmed by everything. There were alternating waves of joy and fear rising in him. Joy at being actually in Hogwarts after a lifetime of imagining the school, at being able to see the ancient suits of armour, the moving staircases and the multitude of enchanted portraits.

But there was crushing fear, squeezing around his heart and tainting his wonder. The only upside to this was that Voldemort seemed to have moved on from any interest he might have stirred with his idiotic decision earlier. The man had all but ignored him in the hallway, which was a relief.

Hadrian was not quite sure how he felt anymore. So he forced himself to watch the Durmstrang students gathered across from him. He rarely got the chance to interact with someone from another wizarding school; even the parties he had attended lately were predominantly filled with French and Spanish witches and wizards.

They all had an air of wildness to them, a harshness in their eyes that intrigued him. He knew of Durmstrang’s reputation for being more inclined to the darker branches of magic, and he wanted to see just how much the students were affected by that.

“A bit rough, are they not?” Claire stated softly as she came to stand next to him. Hadrian gave a shrug.

“Rough, maybe. I was thinking more along the lines of menacing.”

His friend raised her eyebrows. “Surely you are not scared. The Hadrian that has flattened every duelling opponent he has had since fourth year?” There was an amused gleam to her eyes now. “The very same Hadrian that jumped between another student and an agitated Abraxan when he was twelve; is scared of a group of Durmstrang students?”

Hadrian breathed a laugh. “Animals are easy to predict; they simply follow their instincts. It’s humans that are the dangerous ones.” He watched with a critical eye as one of the Durmstrang boys blew a small burst of fire from his mouth, the bright orange flames rolling into the image of a small dragon.

It was an impressive piece of magic; the amount of control it took to bend fire – a notoriously difficult element – into such a complex shape was noteworthy. Hadrian silently committed the student’s face to his memory.

“How are you feeling?” Why was everyone asking him that?

“Like this whole thing is a waste of time and ridiculously frivolous.”

Claire rolled her eyes at him. “It is a simple performance Hadrian, meant to show our gratitude at being welcomed to this school. It is not ‘frivolous’.”

He gave her a knowing look. “We are going to be twirling down a walkway with sparkles dancing around us. It most certainly is.” They had only had little more than an hour to put together their ‘performance’, and had not even had a chance to practise. He supposed their draft and final would have to be one in the same.

Hadrian spotted the beginnings of a smile on her lips, and involuntarily began to relax. This was good for his nerves.

“Is your masculinity at risk?”

“Is it not always?” Raina asked as she and Jacob joined them.

“I will send a tripping jinx at you, don’t think I won’t.” He shot back, lazily turning his head to send her a grin because he knew it would annoy her. She had tried several times over the hours to corner him about his ‘episode’. So far he had been capable of avoiding her.

“If you embarrass me in any way, I will eviscerate you, Evans.”

Hadrian tipped his head back and barked a laugh full of scorn. Raina’s cheeks flushed at his mockery and he could see that they had caught the attention of several Durmstrang students. It was worth causing a scene. That Raina thought she could actually manage to hit him with an attack was, honestly, adorable.

Not that he would intentionally sabotage one of his classmates in this type of setting. This was not Beauxbatons, where there were little consequences to embarrassing another. Here they had to present a united front, as Madame Maxime had told them.

This silly little performance they were expected to give was more than to show gratitude to their hosts. It was to promote their school and intimidate. All ridiculous, as far as he was concerned. It did not matter which one of them had the best entrance, nor was it an indication of their champion’s strength.

There was a sudden rush of noise from inside the hall, which became clearer as the doors began to swing open. Hadrian and the others immediately ducked back towards the other Beauxbatons students waiting off to the side. They had been told Durmstrang would enter first.

Hadrian and Jacob split from the two girls and moved towards the other boys. They easily arranged themselves into two lines, girls towards the front and boys at the back. Madame Maxime stood behind all of them, projecting nothing but calm even as her students buzzed with energy.

Despite himself, and his earlier thoughts, Hadrian was a bit excited to do their little act. In theory, it would look spectacular, so he had no doubt that they would make quite an impression on the other students.

There was a rush of heat from the Great Hall, and the hallway they stood in was briefly lit by orange. Hadrian assumed the Durmstrang students had performed something with fire.

An eruption of applause echoed out to them and Hadrian felt a small grin begin to pull at his mouth. Whatever reservations he had about being in Voldemort’s territory momentarily took a backseat to the flood of adrenaline.

He dully heard a strong voice announce their school.

Show time.

The girls moved forward, their bodies finding a sensual rhythm as they almost floated into the Great Hall. The boys followed a few steps behind, pausing on the threshold of the room. The blue-clad figures had reached the end of long hall, and waves of blue butterflies emerged from their blazers.

The butterflies moved in dazzlingly patterns, before the hundreds of candles were extinguished by the little blue insects. The Great Hall instantly darkened.

As one, Hadrian and the others clapped their hands together once, the sharp noise silencing the shocked shouts of those inside. In the same breath fourteen sets of hands shot upwards, blue sparks releasing from each and rapidly ascending.

The second the sparks were in the air and illuminating the large room, they were moving.

It was with a flurry of manoeuvres that the Beauxbatons boys made their way towards the other end of the Great Hall. Cartwheels, somersaults, tumbles. Some boys took it to another level, preforming twists and flips in the air, using the small gaps between the students to step on their stools and boost themselves higher. Never once did they break stride, or lose their beat.

The girls had taken control of the sparks and morphed them into the forms of Abraxans. The crackling winged horses galloped above all, sometimes swooping close to the many heads of the students and sending small bursts of blue lights flittering down to them.

Hadrian and Jacob were the last in the line, and in perfect synchrony they completed the last few metres to the end of the hall with several rapid front flips.

The moment their feet planted firmly on the stone floor for the last time, the crackling Abraxans above them exploded into a shower of falling stars. The soft blue lights gently fell over the dumbstruck students, and for a precious few seconds there was absolute silence.

Then a roar went up as their audience burst into cheers.

Hadrian straightened and shared a satisfied smile with Jacob, turning to see Madame Maxime stop beside them. She radiated an air of smugness and Hadrian knew they had pleased her.

“Madame,” a voice greeted from behind him. Hadrian politely slid to the side to allow his Headmistress to address the man. He was stern-faced, and immaculately dressed. His blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail which allowed a full view of his stormy blue eyes. “a pleasure to have you here with us.”

“‘eadmaster.” Madame Maxime acknowledged him with a barely-there nod and Hadrian felt amusement ripple through him at the subtle snub. Clearly his Headmistress did not think much of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

Hadrian quickly scanned the man with curiosity.

Edward Yaxley, if he recalled correctly. His humour soured. This was yet another one of Voldemort followers according to his mother, and Hadrian did not doubt it. The man looked like he had no qualms butchering innocent people.

He had to give the man credit though, he did not even falter at the less-then-polite response. Yaxley simply smiled – a motion so mechanical it seemed as if he rehearsed it in the mirror – and gestured up at the raised table where a number of other people were already seated.

Hadrian felt a pit open inside him. The lingering rush of adrenaline vanished at once because he knew what was coming.

With trepidation he raised his eyes and slowly moved his gaze along the table’s occupants, taking a moment to catalogue each one all the while praying he was not there.

And he was not.

Hadrian swung his gaze up and down the Head Table twice more just to confirm that there was, indeed, no Dark Lord. He would have sworn that Voldemort would have been present for the official welcoming of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. That he was nowhere to be seen was…mildly concerning.

Though what tormented Hadrian the most was the small prick of disappointment he could feel at the man’s absence.

“Come on, let’s grab a good seat.” Jacob murmured as Madame Maxime was escorted by Yaxley to her seat. The thirty of them respectfully remained standing in their places, only folding themselves elegantly on their stools once their Headmistress was seated herself. Hadrian could make out a few snickers from the Hogwarts students nearest them, and he had no doubt more further away from them found it equally amusing.

He could tell the quiet chuckles were heard by his classmates when several of them frowned or clicked their tongues in anger. Hadrian knew they would get over it soon enough, it was common for the students to stand until their Headmistress sat and they would continue to do so at every meal.

Either his classmates would grow to ignore the mocking of the other schools, or there would be a confrontation of sorts. He was somewhat curious to see which course took place.

There were a few moments of quiet before Yaxley was standing at the golden podium. Hadrian moved his eyes from his perusal of the Great Hall to the man and watched as the beautiful gold owl stretched its wings and the students fell silent.

He dutifully paid attention to the man as he spoke, his harsh voice easily carried over the vast space.

“Greetings to all, students and staff. I wish to extend our most gracious welcome to our guests from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons,” each school received a short nod in their direction from the man, “and thank them for the marvellous performances they were courteous enough to do.”

Hadrian snorted softly. The man spoke without a hint of emotion in his voice, and so what he perhaps meant to sound cordial came off as cold and uninspiring. Did Yaxley not know that any leader was immediately more effective if they put something into their tone that could encourage some connection from the audience.

The most effective spokespersons could easily mould their voice to emulate whatever emotion would have the most impact on whoever they were speaking to. Clearly, Yaxley had missed that lesson.

Hadrian tried valiantly to pay attention to the Hogwarts Headmaster as he spoke, but his thoughts inevitably strayed back to the empty chair at the centre of the Head Table – so obviously there for the Dark Lord. He wondered why Voldemort was not present. It could be any number of reasons keeping the man.

Despite himself, Hadrian began to relax now that his greatest enemy was not here. Yaxley – while resembling a talking rock – spoke very briefly about the reintroduction of the tournament, skipping through the fact that it had taken many months for Britain to actually convince France and Scandinavia to agree.

Instead he spoke of the structure of the tournament, and the danger entailed. Hadrian heartedly approved of the age-limit in place, having no desire to see which half-wit children were stupid enough to risk their lives. If nothing else, at least they were treating this tournament seriously.

The only people that should enter the tournament were those who explicitly understood what they were risking.

He resolutely ignored the fact that he was in that category.

“Gods, what is that?” Raina whispered and Hadrian followed her gaze to where two men were carrying a large golden case towards Yaxley, the case itself was adorned with an almost obscene amount of jewels. Through that alone Hadrian deduced that whatever was inside was something of great value.

The artefact Éric told me about? The so called ‘impartial judge’? He straightened in interest.

This was it. If he paid attention and figured out just how this artefact worked, how it picked the champions – then he could figure out how to circumvent it. He was not above doing something illegal if it meant he could avoid being discovered. He had to protect his mother and himself.

He watched with no small amount of fascination as the golden case was opened and they were allowed, for the first time, a full view of the artefact.

It reminded Hadrian of a goblet, though far larger, and appeared to be carved from a type of stone. At a gesture from Yaxley, a blue flame erupted inside the goblet, causing more than a few students to stir in their places.

Whatever this piece was it was undoubtedly powerful. Hadrian could not help but stare at it in admiration. He could feel the thick magic that cloaked the goblet send small jolts across his skin.

“Anyone who wishes to take part in the tournament, must simply write their name on a piece of parchment and throw it into the fire.”

That’s it? Gods this will be easier than I thought.

He tuned out the rest of Yaxley’s speech, and only registered that dinner had appeared before them when Jacob bumped him reaching for his glass. Hadrian quickly picked out some food and began to eat in silence, letting his mind spin.

This goblet seemed easy enough to avoid, of course he would much prefer not having to put his name in the fire at all, but every one of his classmates expected him to nominate himself. He knew Madame Maxime’s words about opting out from last week were sincere, but Hadrian knew that if his classmates discovered he was intentionally not participating it would severely damage his reputation.

No, it was better to find a way to look like he nominated himself and was simply not chosen, rather than be labelled as a coward.

He wondered how the goblet would react to having a blank piece of paper thrown into it. Would it simply ignore it? Or would it react in some obvious way, if something like that occurred?

Hadrian would have to wait until he saw how the fire responded to an ordinary nomination. Then, he would simply have to find the time to test his theory, most likely late at night when no one would be around.

All he knew was that he would have to move quickly, because it would be very soon that he would be expected to put his name in.

Chapter Text

In the end he did not have to wait long for the first nomination to happen.

After the meals had been cleared, and the mass exodus of students had begun, a stern looking girl from Durmstrang approached the goblet. The noise and chatter of the remaining people in the Great Hall trickled away as more and more people noticed what was happening.

Hadrian, one of the few Beauxbatons left in the hall, watched as she stepped up to the goblet. The wispy age-line Yaxley had drawn gently moved with her for a few steps before evening back out into its original circular shape. Clearly this girl had either reached her majority, or would sometime this year.

It was surprisingly anticlimactic, he thought as she stretched up and dropped a sliver of folded parchment into the blue flames.

The goblet itself showed no reaction other than a brief flare; and then the girl was stepping back to a series of applause from her classmates.

Well, looks like I’ll be able to test my theory sooner than I thought.

He became aware of a presence directly behind him. A smooth voice spoke softly as lips brushed against his ear. “Someone’s eager, though I can’t say I’m surprised the first participant is from Durmstrang. They have the least amount of recorded wins, if I recall. Stung pride is a terrible thing.”

Hadrian hummed in response to Jacob’s remark as they began to make their way out of the hall now that the small incident was over. They received more than a few glances as they swept passed the lingering Hogwarts students. Hadrian wondered if they were just curious because they were foreigners and therefore, unknowns; or if it was the fluent French that grabbed their attention.

“I am sure more than half of the total nominations will be from Durmstrang – their Headmaster seems the type to encourage acts of reckless abandonment. He is pushing one of them to their death.”

“There is no guarantee the champions will die. I mean, the challenges will still be dangerous but if you are smart and powerful there is no reason you could not at least live through it.”

“Why do I get the feeling that was aimed at me?” Hadrian asked as they made their way out into the dark grounds where the carriage was located. Jacob laughed as if he had said something hilarious.

“Because of course you will be our champion,” he said with all the assurance of a seer. Hadrian actually stopped at that. Jacob continued walking, carrying on without noticing. “everyone already knows it. I doubt some of us will even slip our names in we are so sure.”

“That’s absurd. You are all being stupid. Just because I’m magically strong does not mean I will automatically be champion.” Again, Jacob laughed as he turned to face him.

“Hadrian,” his voice was almost patronising, and he stepped closer to clasp the smaller boy by his shoulders. He sounded as if he could not understand why Hadrian was even arguing this. “you are not ‘magically strong’. You are a literal powerhouse. And don’t start a spiel about how we are all worthy in our own way – you sound ridiculous.”

Those hands trailed absently down his arms, giving a lingering caress to Hadrian’s hips before falling away and returning to Jacob’s side. Hadrian ignored the small flare of interest the touch ignited. Jacob’s mind was obviously already moving onto other things. He could not decide if that was a good thing or not.

Hadrian looked away. A part of him mildly panicked at the thought that so many of his classmates were considering not putting their names forward. The other part of him was just annoyed. If he was going to wriggle his way out of participating, he needed to make sure some others still did it; especially the particularly talented students. If someone so clearly weaker than him was chosen it would be suspicious and questions would be asked.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Jacob lost his playfulness. He tilted his head and eyed Hadrian shrewdly despite the lack of sufficient light.

“You really don’t like this, do you? Ever since I first told you about it you have been agitated. You act as if you don’t even want to be here.”

Hadrian sighed, “Maybe that’s because I don’t?” he said dryly and continued making his way to the carriage, slightly faster than he had been previously. If this was going to lead to another argument between them he would much rather it happen in a more secure location than Hogwarts’ lawn. He did not want to have to cut into his friend in front of everyone.

And he still had to plan how he was going to sneak back into the school after curfew and conduct his little test as well. He had no idea what type of security there would be, but he knew there would some.

“But that’s what I don’t understand.” Jacob, much like Claire, had no problem keeping pace with him. Hadrian might be the strongest in their year but he was also cursed with below average height, a trait he shared with his mother.

“Everyone – even the ones that think it’s a waste of time – wants to be the champion on some level. Hell, even I wonder what it would be like to be champion. But you, you act like it’s the least interesting or thought-provoking thing you have come across; even though we all know you would get it.”

They stopped once again, just before Hadrian could pull the door of the carriage open. Jacob’s voice had steadily risen throughout his little speech and that would not do. They still had to make it to their room before Hadrian would be comfortable speaking with Jacob.

His disapproval was palpable, and it effortlessly cut off whatever else Jacob was about to say. Jacob huffed, but gestured for Hadrian to enter the carriage. He had gotten the unspoken message then to wait for privacy.

Without a word they slipped inside and moved directly for their room. Most of their classmates were already lingering in the lounge room, speaking in low voices or had retired. Hadrian opened the door to their room and pulled out his wand to set up a few privacy wards so they would not be overheard or interrupted.

He carefully placed his wand on his bedside table before giving his full and undivided attention to his friend. “Why does it bother you that I don’t want to be champion?” A bit of the fight seemed to leave Jacob when Hadrian did not brush off their conversation, or outright deny speaking about it.

“I just want to understand why you don’t want it. You do realise you would have a good chance of winning?”

Hadrian’s tongue darted out to run across his bottom lip as he thought, the movement followed by Jacob’s eyes. He wanted to tell Jacob, Gods knew having someone who was aware of his precarious situation here would be helpful. However, whenever he opened his mouth to speak, his mother’s words rang in his head.

“I know you care for Jacob and your other friends, but you cannot let your affection cloud your judgement. Talking to them about these matters is dangerous, not just for us but for them as well.”

He was already on thin ice because of his foolish choice earlier, he did not know if he could risk his friend’s life.

“You know how critical secrecy is.”

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I can’t talk about this Jacob. I thought we agreed to drop this?”

“I agreed to drop it at that moment, I made no such promises to never bring it back up.” Jacob folded his arms and frowned. Hadrian could see that Jacob had already made the connection that his aversion to being champion was somehow linked with his interaction with Malfoy weeks ago.

Unwillingly, Hadrian felt his pulse begin to race. The pieces were all there for Jacob, his friend merely had to connect them to get the right picture. They had already discussed that Voldemort was behind the tournament, Jacob was at least partially aware of Hadrian’s antagonism towards the Dark Lord, and Lucius Malfoy was a high-ranking Death Eater.

Hadrian really was not surprised when Jacob’s brown eyes darted up to him searchingly, the beginnings of comprehension dawning in them. “Are you in some form of trouble, Hadrian?” the other boy asked seriously. Hadrian sighed and ruffled his already chaotic hair.

“In a sense, you could say.” He sent a grim smile at his friend, now tired of this conversation. He was unsure if he wanted Jacob to even know everything, because he was hit with the sudden fear that revealing anything more than vague ideas could do irreparable damage to their friendship. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, so don’t fret.”

His friend sent him a disbelieving look as he drew closer. “Don’t fret?” he asked, “Are you kidding-”

Hadrian reached out and gently curled his fist in the lapel of Jacob’s blazer, slowly reeling the taller boy towards him and effectively shutting him up. He gave him plenty of time to pull away.

Jacob willing stepped closer with half-lidded eyes.

They stood quietly for a moment, just basking in the heat the other emitted. But then Hadrian was tugging Jacob’s head down to him and brushing their lips together. He could feel the tension their almost-argument created melt out of his friend’s body the longer the slight contact lasted.

“I do believe you are trying to distract me.” Jacob murmured, leaning back just enough to speak unhindered. His lips were curled in a resigned way.

Hadrian shrugged, unconcerned that Jacob had seen through the simple ploy. “I don’t want to talk any longer. You’re annoyed, I’m stressed. I happen to know a sure-fire way of easing it.”

He moved towards the beds, shedding his blazer and throwing it haphazardly off to the side. He pivoted so he was facing his friend and, with deft fingers, he began to unbutton his standard grey vest and stark white shirt. Once his chest was bare he paused and raised a black eyebrow at Jacob, as if to say 'Well?'. He knew he got his way when the other boy finally began to walk towards him.

When Jacob came to a stop in front of him he skimmed his hand over Hadrian's bare chest. Lightly tracing the lithe figure and pale skin. "Beautiful," he whispered, his head dropping down to the curve of Hadrian's neck and mouthing the skin there.

Hadrian dropped his head back to allow more access and felt the stirrings of lust spark under Jacob's reverent touches. Ever since he had begun exploring sex he knew he enjoyed a certain amount of challenge in his partners. He liked the clash of wills and the battle for control; mainly because he always won. But he could not deny that occasionally he enjoyed a more relaxed and sedate pace.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those times.

Jacob was in a similar boat because soon his ministrations turned more demanding, his teeth biting the flesh of his neck. Hadrian made an appreciative noise as Jacob’s mouth found his and pressed closer to the other boy. His hands come into play and roamed over Jacob’s clothed chest.

He allowed Jacob to control the kiss for a few moments before one of his hands was weaving into the other’s soft brown hair and tugging. He forced Jacob’s head back and wasted no time in latching onto the taller boy’s pulse point.

Jacob let out a throaty groan as Hadrian bit and sucked. “Embracing your inner vampire?” he asked breathlessly.

Hadrian finished up with a tantalising lick and nipped at Jacob’s jawline before pulling back with a grin that was equal parts dangerous and erotic. “I’m sure we can play around with that idea at a later date. But right now I’m vastly more interested in another bodily fluid.”

Hadrian’s fingers teasingly traced along the waist of Jacob’s pants, just barely dipping passed the rim and skimming over the material of his shirt. The touch sent shivers through Jacob. Without hesitation they clashed for another kiss. Hadrian worked his way into his friend’s mouth, tracing the other’s teeth and coaxing Jacob’s tongue to play.

It was messy but undoubtedly stimulating for both of them as Jacob had no problem pressing his groin against Hadrian’s to show his hardening cock. The dark haired boy responded with equal fervour by stepping closer. In his mind he calculated how he needed to manoeuvre Jacob to get him where he wanted them.

He slid his hands down Jacob’s firm chest and gave a shove. The other grunted as he toppled back onto his bed, but seemed content to stay where he was.

They both knew Hadrian was in charge right now, and secretly, Jacob thoroughly enjoyed being dominated by the smaller boy.

Hadrian smoothly climbed on top of his friend's lap and pinned Jacob's hands with a flick of his wrist, invisible bands wrapping securely around them. Jacob gave an experimental tug of the restraints but offered no protest. He did buck his hips though, and Hadrian was unsurprised to feel that Jacob was hard already.

He swiftly began unbuttoning his friend's own vest and shirt, latching his mouth onto the boy's skin as it was revealed to him. He bit down harshly, only to drag his tongue over the spots to sooth any pain. By the time he had covered Jacob in his marks the boy's chest was heaving and his eyes were glazed.

Hadrian smirked down at his panting friend, waiting until their eyes locked before he ground down so their cocks rubbed against each other, separated only by their standard grey pants. Jacob's head fell back onto the silk covers and he stuttered out a curse. Hadrian repeated the action again, and received a similar response from the boy beneath him.

He leaned over his friend, hands trailing up and down his bare chest, occasionally scraping his nails over Jacob's nipples or running his tongue over the pre-existing purple marks. He pressed his mouth to Jacob's exposed neck and sucked at the junction, loving the frantic beat of his heart that he could almost taste.

Everything he did elicited a reaction. A groan. A moan. A choked off name. It was intoxicating and Hadrian loved every minute of it. It gave him a rush, not unlike the one he got from duelling.

He jerked his hips again and again, feeling his orgasm building and knowing Jacob was almost finished as well. He kissed his way to Jacob's ear and tugged on the lobe with his teeth. "You're so fucking hot." He whispered, voice hoarse. Jacob let out a strangled moan at the sound of it, eyes fluttering closed.

Hadrian grinned and pressed a harsh kiss to Jacob's jaw when he felt his friend release.

Moments later he followed with a quiet groan. Hadrian pushed himself off of Jacob and dropped down on the bed next to his friend, looking up at the ceiling with a pleasantly hazy mind. For a few precious minutes everything just stopped for him, all his fear and frustration and plans were gone as his mind dulled.

The only sounds in the dark room were their pants.

"Think you'll let me up any time soon?" Jacob murmured, sounding as relaxed as Hadrian felt. The dark haired boy closed his eyes and lazily waved his hand. Instantly the restraints disappeared from Jacob's wrists and the other boy shifted them to his sides with a contented sigh.

"That was fun."

Hadrian hummed, "We're lucky I already put up those silencing wards otherwise someone probably would have heard."

Jacob chuckled. "I'm pretty sure half of them already know."

"Doesn't mean we want them interrupting."

"I'll say. But don't think I'm going to let your stalling work forever."

A fond smile appeared on Hadrian's lips. "Go to sleep Jacob."

OoO

Hadrian waited a long time for Jacob to reach the brink of sleep before he pushed another light charm on the other to keep him under for a good five hours. It was already reaching midnight at this point, due to the lengthy feast, speeches and now his and Jacob’s romp. He could not afford to wait any longer.

Silently, he pushed himself up and made his way over to his dresser. With a wave of his hand he was clean, since he did not have time for a shower but was unwilling to go running around Hogwarts dirty and reeking of sex.

He quickly slipped out of the rest of his uniform and pulled on a set of black pants, followed by a simple long-sleeved black shirt. He retrieved his wand and began applying a disillusionment charm to himself. That taken care of, he slid it into the holster on his forearm.

Before he left the room he grabbed a loose piece of parchment, folded it, and slipped it down the back of his pants so it was snuggly tucked between his skin and the waist of his pants, due to his lack of pockets.

With light steps he made his way towards the carriage door, grateful that everyone seemed to have retreated to their rooms for the night. Tomorrow would be their first day of classes, and all of them would be eager to get a good night’s sleep to prepare themselves for whatever Hogwarts had in store for them.

Hadrian was sure he would be back in time to secure a few good hours of sleep if all went according to his plan. He would sneak in, toss some blank parchment in the flame, and see the effect. If the goblet reacted in the same way it had with the Durmstrang girl’s nomination, then he would leave. If it did not, he would have to run as many diagnosis spells as he could and return the next night. He only had a limited time frame to work with and would prefer to get this out of the way early.

He moved across the cool grass of the lawn, making a beeline for the colossal doors they had used when they arrived. He knew there were several entrances into Hogwarts, but until he had a firmer grasp on the castle’s outline he would have to stick to the paths he knew.

A small part of him bitterly noted that if Voldemort had not destroyed everything he would already know his way around Hogwarts.

When Hadrian reached the doors he cautiously moved his magic through them and searched for any defence mechanisms in place. He knew Hogwarts’ protective wards were a devastating force to behold, and just prayed there was nothing too powerful.

After a few moments of probing he pushed his magic from the door and out the hallway beyond to seek out any guards or lingering presences.

There was no one. Satisfied, he reached for the handle, feeling the protective wards pleasantly warm under his hand.

There was nothing on the door to repel a known entity. When he had signed those forms earlier today it had done more than show his agreement to participate in the tournament. It had registered him as a – temporary – student of Hogwarts. This meant the wards were no threat to him.

He used a sliver of magic to crack the door open and slide inside. He briefly considered leaving the door partially open, but eventually decided against it in case anyone came passed while he was occupied and raised any alarms. He did not want to get caught, because then he would not only be punished – he would be accused of cheating; and that would set off a whole range of international problems.

Hadrian quickly cast a silencing charm on himself so that nothing – not his footsteps, not the rustling of his clothes as he moved, not his breath – could be heard. He made his way towards the Great Hall from memory, scaling the staircase two steps at a time. He only paused when he reached the top to scan up and down the hall before he shot off to the large doors.

They were already slightly opened, and Hadrian peered through the gap to see if anyone was inside. Additionally, he sent out a careful wave of magic once again, and ducked inside when he assured it was empty.

He made his way to the goblet in the centre of the hall and easily passed the age line. It allowed anyone of majority age through, but also allowed those who would be turning seventeen to move through. This was to allow students like Raina – who were seventh years, but would be turning seventeen later in the year – the opportunity to participate as well. The only difference between a sixteen year old and a seventeen year old participant would be the former would require a guardian present for certain legal matters.

With nimble fingers Hadrian tugged out the blank parchment and ripped off a small portion.

He stood there for a moment, simply watching the dancing blue flames and switching his gaze between that and the parchment. He hoped that this would work, because if it did not then he would be in trouble.

Having lingered long enough, Hadrian steeled himself and reached up to drop the blank piece of parchment into the fire. He waited for a full minute, then two, then three. And when the flame showed no other reaction other than the initial flare of accepting the parchment he felt a grin curl the edges of his mouth.

He could avoid the tournament now, without looking like he was betraying his academy.

Pleased with his success he backed out of the age line and turned to go, only to freeze.

Because there was someone standing behind him, barely a metre away from the doors.

How did he sneak up on me? Hadrian thought, a mix of panicked and irritated. How much did he see?

The man was old, perhaps in his late fifties, but seeing as wizards and witches tended to age rather slowly, Hadrian suspected this man could be anywhere into his early seventies.

He couldn’t have seen anything other than the flame and age line moving. If I can just sneak out behind him, I’ll be fine. I haven’t tampered with the goblet at all, there’s no physical evidence I’ve left that could incriminate me.

The man’s sharp blue eyes swept from the goblet to do a swift survey of the room, letting him know that his concealment charms did nothing to hide his presence from the man. He might be – technically – invisible, but any powerful witch or wizard would be able to sense him.

Hadrian held his breath despite knowing he was silenced by his spell. He quickly calculated the distance between him, the unknown man, and the door. Could he risk it? He had no desire to be caught by whoever this man was, but staying here would be infinitely worse.

Hyperaware that any sudden movement would alert the man, Hadrian began to inch his way towards the wall, sinking deeper into the dancing shadows cast by the flickering blue flame. It had the benefit of masking the ripples he knew would appear if he moved too quickly. The brain would likely dismiss the movement as a trick of the light this way.

He was a bit disconcerted by the fact that the man had yet to move from where he had been standing during these long minutes. If he could somehow draw him away from the door…

“You are remarkably talented to have remained hidden for so long.” The man finally spoke, voice like velvet and quiet enough that Hadrian had to strain to make them out. The ‘from me’ at the end of his sentence made Hadrian hesitate for a fraction of a second before continuing along the wall. He would not be stupid enough as to react to anything the man said.

“Though I do wonder what you are doing in here so late at night.”

Technically, he thought with biting humour, it’s early morning.

Those blue eyes roved over the vast hall obsessively, more than once lingering near where Hadrian was hidden. He wondered if the man was strong enough to pinpoint his exact location through the small spells he was using to conceal himself. That thought merely strengthened his desire to leave.

With a little more confidence, he made it to the corner of the room and began to snake his way to the doors. If he could just slip out behind the man he would be able to escape without revealing anything. He was sure that even if the man sensed him leaving, Hadrian could outrun him.

Just as Hadrian was nearing the door the man spoke again, deadly amusement present in his tone.

“Very well then, if you won’t come out of your own free will, I will have to make you.” A wrinkled hand made a sharp cutting motion through the air. Instantly, Hadrian felt a massive force compressing around him.

With panic, he fought to maintain his concealment spells as the finite incantatem tried to tear them away.

Finite incantatem was a troublesome spell, but it could be resisted as long as you were focussed, and your magical strength was equal or superior to that of your opponent’s. Since he was a child Hadrian had rarely experienced trouble when overcoming this spell, having always possessed a very formidable magical core. He had always been able to brush it off.

This was the first time he had no doubt that if he was not concentrating as hard as he was, he would have lost.

Hadrian battled against the overwhelming power of the spell, pushing more of his own magic into keeping his disillusionment running at full capacity. Unfortunately, he could not spare the attention needed to keep his silencing charm from crumbling.

The sharp gasp of relief that slipped loose when the pressure abated was obscenely loud.

With the man only a few feet in front of him, there was no chance he missed it. Hadrian froze when the man turned, and he knew that he was able to see the blurry outline cast by him.

The man’s head titled to the side and there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. Hadrian could feel that incredible magic focus on him directly, reaching and tugging at his own, clawing at his disillusionment charm in an attempt to get it to fall as well.

A flash of fear, and no small amount of white-hot rage surged inside him. It gave him enough strength to meet the invasive force head on and bat it away. Hadrian barely waited to see the widening of those blue eyes before he was ducking out of the Great Hall, reapplying his silencing charm and sprinting away.

He did not stop running until he was safely inside the carriage and leaning against the door.

He stayed there for a good long time, just replaying the night’s events over in his mind and marvelling at his sheer dumb luck at having escaped without getting caught.

A borderline hysterical giggle rose in him, adrenaline fading and fatigue setting in, leaving him in a state of exhausted giddiness. He would have to be careful if he ever encountered that man again, in case he recognised anything about Hadrian.

But the unease that the thought of that man inspired in him was nothing compared to sweet taste of success at having completed his goal. He now knew his plan to enter a blank piece of parchment into the goblet would work. His reputation would be intact, he would avoid being champion, and his secrets would remain safe.

Hadrian would do all he could to help whichever of his classmates was chosen, if only to ease the guilt his plan invoked. Other than that, he would continue to be the excellent student he had always been. And when this mess was all over and done with, he would return to France and proceed with the next step in his and his mother’s long awaited plan.

It would all work out in the end.

OoO

Jacob looked over at the lump on the other bed as his fingers swiftly finished buttoning up his vest. He was mostly dressed for the day, and was intending to join some of his classmates soon so they could make the trek to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He picked up one of his pillows, approached Hadrian’s slumbering form and brought the fluffy weapon down on his friend’s unsuspecting head.

Hadrian’s arm shot up and intercepted the blow though, his glazed emerald eyes blinking rapidly as he looked from the pillow on his arm, to Jacob’s impenitent face. “What are you doing?” the smaller boy asked, voice muffled by the duvet that covered most of his face.

“Waking you up, apparently. A few of us are heading up for breakfast in a couple of minutes, did you want us to wait for you?”

Hadrian grunted as he pushed himself up and rubbed a hand over his face. Jacob stepped back, tossing his pillow back onto his own bed and taking a moment to appreciate the view. It was perhaps one of his favourite things, seeing Hadrian wake up in the morning. When the other boy – usually so quick and aware – was still sleep-addled and ruffled.

The purple marks on his neck from last night just made everything that much more beautiful.

“What?” Hadrian grumbled as he fought his way out of his duvet and off the bed. Jacob shook his head, internally chuckling at how different his friend was.

“Breakfast, Hadrian. We’ll be heading up for it soon. Did you want to join us?”

His friend stared at him blankly, before Jacob literally saw the tiredness seep away and Hadrian’s mind snap fully awake. “No,” his dark haired friend eventually said, making his way over to his dresser and pulling out his own uniform. “thank you, though. I will meet you in class.” His voice became stifled once again when he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Which is first again?”

Jacob reached out and plucked Hadrian’s schedule off the bedside table and easily found what he was looking for. “Ancient Runes, for you.” He dropped the sheets on his friend’s unmade bed. “Remind me again why you take that horrid subject?”

He could barely make out Hadrian’s laugh over the running water. “I like knowing what certain squiggles mean.” He called out, voice brimming with amusement. “Plus, there’s the benefit of being able to deconstruct wards, create my own spells, translate ancient pieces of text…you know, all that boring stuff you dismissed?”

“It’s one of the joint classes, isn’t it?” he ignored Hadrian’s teasing. So he had criticised the subject when he was younger, he had seen the workload Hadrian completed just for one piece of assessment for that subject. He did not need that level of stress in his life. “I wonder how those Hogwarts students will handle having you let loose on them? I hope you won’t make them feel too stupid during the lessons.”

“No promises.”

Jacob chuckled, and left their room with a small smile. It seemed like whatever grim mood had been shrouding Hadrian since they arrived here had been undone. He hoped the light-hearted attitude lingered, Jacob had no desire to be trapped with such a morose person for so long.

He greeted Nathaniel with a playful slap to the back when he caught sight of the other, “I’m famished,” he proclaimed. “we going or not?” The other boy gave a pointed look over his shoulder in the direction he had come.

“Hadrian not coming?” Nathaniel asked, green eyes – nowhere near Hadrian’s shade, Jacob doubted he would ever meet anyone else with that beautiful colour – moved from the hallway back to his face.

Jacob shrugged and started walking to the carriage door. “He said he’d catch up with us in class. I assume he’ll find some form of sustenance between then and now.”

Nathaniel snorted, “I bet he’ll have the house-elves at his beck and call before the end of the month. The little critters seem to fall in-love with him almost instantly.” Jacob grinned at that. It was true that Hadrian was capable of charming most creatures he came across; the house-elves back at Beauxbatons seemed to think he was the most wonderful being that had ever walked the marble halls.

“Who’s this?” Charles asked when they joined him and some of the other students. All of them were impeccably dressed, as expected.

“Hadrian, of course.”

“Ah,” fond amusement bled onto Charles’ smooth face. The other shared a look with Jacob, before his eyes dipped to Jacob’s throat. “Have fun last night, Korin?”

Jacob – hardly a prude – stretched his neck in a way that showed off the blooming marks more obviously. He fluttered his eyelashes, “Naturally. Why, jealous?” He purred. Charles laughed, but shook his head.

“I don’t think there’s anyone in our school who isn’t. Do try to be more subtle though, Hadrian’s not the type to advertise a relationship.”

Jacob shrugged, “Hadrian and I aren’t in a relationship, it’s more of a casual thing anyway.”

The other chuckled, all knowing that while Jacob and Hadrian cared for each other, the two would never take the step into an actual relationship. They valued their friendship too much.

OoO

Hadrian sighed as he stepped out of the carriage, his book-bag thrown over one shoulder and an apple in his other hand. He threw the piece of fruit up in the air a few times as he began walking towards Hogwarts, following the same path as last night.

As his teeth sunk into the shiny red fruit he sucked to keep the juices from escaping and dripping down his chin. The morning was crisp and pale, but beautiful all the same. He left only five minutes after Jacob and the others, and he knew there was still plenty of time to go to the Great Hall for breakfast, but he wanted to get to the classroom early. To take a moment to just wander through the hallways and soak in the castle.

He made his way into the castle, this time bypassing the doorway to the Great Hall and making his way to the numerous moving staircases. A soft smile appeared on his lips as he looked over the constantly moving stone staircases, how they so effortlessly shifted and changed, like clockwork. It was a stunning display of magic.

He pulled out his schedule from his pocket and scanned it until he found the room he was supposed to go to for Ancient Runes. Now he just had to figure out how to navigate the stairs to get to the fourth floor. He grinned at the challenge as he stuffed the pages away, banished the remains of his apple, and stepped onto the staircase that appeared in front of him.

It was surprisingly fun, moving from staircase to staircase. He occasionally met another student as he made his way up, but he supposed since it was breakfast a majority of all the students would already be in the Great Hall. Still, Hadrian ignored the curious stares he received from the Hogwarts’ students, only acknowledging those that gave him a proper greeting.

When the staircase he was on came to a rest on the fourth floor Hadrian stepped off and watched with interest as it immediately moved off. It really was an impressive spell, and no doubt as ancient as the castle itself.

Shaking his head, he moved off, green eyes darting from side to side and taking in as many details as he could.

The same excitement as before began to spark in his chest when he imagined his parents being here. Walking the same corridors, breathing the same air, surrounded by the rough stone walls. This was everything he had always dreamed.

Though the excitement was still tinged with bitterness, because Hogwarts would never hold the same meaning to him as it did to his mother. He admired, respected and loved the place, certainly. But it was not his. He would always consider Beauxbatons his home away from home.

Hadrian turned a corner, and promptly collided with another. He grunted as the smaller figure slammed into his chest and sent him to the hard floor. There were several loud ‘thuds’, followed by a soft groan.

Hadrian pushed himself up and looked to see himself surrounded by a number of books, most likely dropped by whoever he had hit.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going! Oh, this is embarrassing.”

Hadrian looked up to see a girl, about his age, hurriedly collecting the scattered books. He let out a chuckle at how horrified she sounded. “It is no problem, it is as much my fault as it is yours.” He pushed himself up and straightened his uniform.

The girl had stilled where she was crouched, before she shot to her feet. Twin brown eyes were scanning him with fascination. Hadrian quirked a grin at her, bending to pick up the two books still on the floor. “You’re from Beauxbatons, aren’t you?” she asked.

His grin widened, and he pointedly looked down at himself. “How did you guess?” he asked in amusement. The girl promptly flushed at his teasing, clearly even more embarrassed then she had been before. To save her from having to reply he turned his attention to the books he was holding.

“Potions?” he inquired, gesturing with the books. The girl’s attention snapped down to them, as if questioning how they had gotten there. Her eyes returned to him, and she nodded once.

“We have an assignment due on the properties of a memory potion. I was just in the library doing study, but I would be late for Runes if I did not leave then and-”

“Ancient Runes?” Hadrian interrupted gently, finding the girl’s rambling more than amusing. She nodded again, some curly strands of brown hair falling out of her ponytail. “How fortuitous,” he said, “I’m actually in that class and it would be great to have someone who knew where they were going with me.”

“You take Ancient Runes?” she asked, eyes brightening. “I didn’t know you had Ancient Runes as a subject at Beauxbatons.”

“Of course we have it, it’s one of the most interesting topics in our curriculum. It’s a shame not many of my classmates share that opinion.”

There was an understanding grin on her face, “Let me guess, they don’t see the benefits of it?”

He laughed, “No, unfortunately not. Most that do the class are just there because either their parents pushed for it, or they want to learn how to create some ridiculous spells. I can count on one hand how many of us are there out of interest.”

“Well, I would be happy to escort a fellow student to the classroom. It’s only a little way away from here, anyway.”

They fell into step together, Hadrian content to be quiet. He could tell the girl was positively brimming with questions.

“So, how have you liked Hogwarts so far? I imagine it’s a great deal different from your own school.”

“It’s…different.” He said, “Beauxbatons is more marble and glass figurines and lush gardens, whereas Hogwarts is more rough and ancient. I think your school is beautiful, have no doubt of that. It will just take a bit of getting used to.”

She merely smiled at him, and he cocked an eyebrow in question. She flushed again. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve never heard a French accent before, it’s not as thick as I thought it would be.”

Hadrian made a soft noise in acknowledgement. “When I was younger I was constantly around someone who had a British accent, after I went to the academy I picked up the French accent. I ended up with a weird mix, most of my classmates have much thicker accents when they speak English.”

“That makes sense.” the girl said, shifting so she had a better hold on her books. Without offering, Hadrian reached over and took three more from her pile and held them himself so she was not struggling. She gave him a grateful look as they came to a stop.

“We’re a bit early, class doesn’t start for another ten minutes I’m afraid. But students usually show up about five minutes before class starts.”

Hadrian nodded, opening the classroom door and having a quick peek inside. It was a rather large room, filled with a number of routine desks and chairs. He stepped into the room and moved to a desk near the front. The girl followed him in and placed her books in a neat pile next to him.

Hadrian handed over the five he had carried and placed his book-bag on the desk as well.

He turned to face the girl and leaned his hip on the desk. “So,” he said, effortlessly capturing her attention again. She frowned at him in confusion, and all that did was make him smile. He held out his hand for her. “my name is Hadrian Evans. And you are?”

Once again the girl blushed in embarrassment, probably dismayed at the fact that they were only just introducing themselves to each other.

She reached out and took his hand, which he swiftly brought up to brush his lips over her knuckles. She smiled at him, a gesture he returned.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Hadrian. My name is Hermione Granger.”

Chapter Text

“Once more, please?”

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand, but obliged him. “Hermione.” She said, slowly and clearly.

Hadrian nodded and took his time to draw the name out. “Her-my-uh-nee?” He still sounded unsure of his pronunciation, but he was getting better. While Hadrian’s accent was not as thick as others, her name was ludicrously hard to wrap his tongue around.

Hermione grinned at him in delight, “That’s it, now just say it faster.”

“Hermione?”

She tipped her head back and laughed lightly, thoroughly amused. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think how difficult it would be for you to say.” She watched as he shrugged, a small upwards tilt to his mouth.

“You can hardly help it; you did not name yourself. I am just glad that I won’t be butchering your name in the future.”

A thrill went through her at the thought that he would want to spend time with her again – that she had not somehow scared him away. She bashfully brushed a strand of curly hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. It had only been a few moments since they had officially introduced themselves and Hermione did not want their conversation to end just yet.

It felt wonderful to speak to someone who did not either already know her, or had some preconceived ideas about her because of her circumstances.

And Hadrian was a charming conversationalist. She could tell he was well educated simply from how he spoke, and his interest in Ancient Runes was just another indicator of his intelligence. This was hardly a subject you could just breeze your way through with minimal effort or skill.

“May I ask you something?” Hermione blinked at the somewhat abrupt question, but nodded nonetheless. Hadrian had a strange look on his face, a mix between confused, intrigued and regretful. It immediately made her wary.

“You said your last name was Granger, yes?” Hermione pressed her lips together, seeing where this line of questioning was going and feeling her opinion of this boy rapidly deteriorating. Hadrian paused, his head cocked to the side as he studied her; and Hermione was not oblivious to the almost clinical gleam to his bright eyes. It was a tad unnerving, and made her slightly uncomfortable.

When she remained silent, the boy continued. “You are a muggleborn.”

He certainly did not dance around the subject. Hermione jutted her chin out defensively, unable to help falling back to old habits whenever her blood status came up in a conversation.

She had faced this prejudice all her life, and had learned the hard way that if she wanted any respect in this world she had to constantly prove her worth; to prove that she was just as, if not more talented then the pureblooded children.

She had fostered a gentle hope that the foreign students would not have a similar mindset, that they would not hear her status and sneer. She knew that France, specifically, was rather accepting of all blood statuses, with only the particularly ancient houses still clinging to these old views.

The fact that Hadrian was even inquiring about her blood status proved her wrong. They were all alike.

“I am.” She said strongly, almost daring him to show her scorn. In a flash, his intense interest fell away to something more – worried? His eyes widened and his hands shot up pacifyingly.

“I meant no offence.” He rushed out, sounding sincere and gazing at her pleadingly with his beautiful green eyes. Hermione blinked in surprise, the change in his attitude so sudden she could not tell if it was just a mask he had put on to calm her, or if he truly felt this concern.

Her continued silence gave him a few precious seconds to gather himself, and like a cat finding its feet after a fall, his voice was kind and soothing when he spoke, and Hermione felt herself unconsciously relaxing her irritated posture at the gentle tone.

“I am truly sorry Hermione. I suspected it was a…sensitive subject. I was merely too curious for my own good.” He chuckled weakly and shook his head as his gaze darted off to the side. He muttered something in French, the different language sounding like fine honey dripping from his mouth.

She wanted to ask what he had said, but she doubted the change of language was anything but deliberate. He carried on before she could.

“I was under the impression that the Dark Lord was a blood purist. I did not think he would have allowed muggleborns to attend Hogwarts.”

Hermione’s face lost its tightness, and her initial suspicions of his sincerity dropped. She could perfectly understand his curiosity, and coupled with his apology she concluded that he had meant no harm by his rather blunt questions.

“He is, in many ways. But he is also a very intelligent man. He knows there are…issues with many of the pureblood families.” It was only after she spoke that she realised she probably should not be so open with this information. The state of the pureblood families might not be secret, but she knew it was not something to spread around in such a conversation-

“Inbreeding?” Hadrian asked, breaking her train of thought. He shrugged when Hermione gave him a look. “It’s a fairly common – if disgusting – problem all around the world, even in France there are the occasional inbred couplings to keep the bloodline untainted.” There was something very much like scorn in his voice.

Hermione hummed, “Yes, well, there have been a few…problems because of it. Muggleborns are an accepted group in Britain because we offer certain positive impacts.”

Hadrian narrowed his eyes in thought, “You mean you have fresh blood. New genes.”

Again, he surprised her, and he elaborated. “It is actually one of the reasons my friend and I believe this tournament is even running,” he said, “to allow Britain’s youth to make connections with international families. Try and reverse any damage generations of inbreeding has caused.”

“You seem rather well-informed on the state of Britain’s pureblood families, if I do say so.”

He smiled at her with just a hint of teeth. “Know thy enemy, Hermione. This might be a competition between schools, but it’s deeply trenched with politics. There is no such thing as too much information.”

She could certainly agree with that. “So is that why you were curious about my blood status?”

Her words seemed to drain the humour out of him, and Hermione was impressed at how quickly he could go from one emotion to the other. It reminded her vaguely of her foster father, the calculating light in his eyes, the coolness.

“In France,” he began, “we have little detailed knowledge of how Britain has been faring under the Dark Lord’s regime. We know about certain things, like the problems facing the purebloods, current politicians and powerful figures; but most of what has occurred in the past fifteen years is still a mystery.”

Hadrian ran a hand through his hair, causing the wild black strands to become more unruly. “It is known that the Dark Lord despised muggleborns – anyone of inferior status really.” The way he spoke was detached, as if he were reciting something he had long ago learned and repeated again and again. “When you told me your name I was more surprised than anything. Of course there was the chance you were a halfblood, but muggleborn was the more logical choice.”

He looked away from her once again even as he continued on in that flat tone. “I have always been curious as to what happened with the other blood statuses, but Britain has been so quarantined that we know next to nothing. At best I expected some form of slavery; at worst it was genocide.”

Hermione watched him, both intrigued and slightly disturbed at this side of the charming boy she had been talking to. But then he blinked and Hadrian’s eyes held that sparkle again, the one that she had seen ever since they had collided in the hallway. The change, again, was so sudden she was almost disorientated.

It was so hard to get a read on him.

Hadrian smiled at her, “I am glad I was wrong. Tell me more?”

OoO

Hadrian watched closely as Hermione’s face lost its grimness and she gave him a light smile. He felt a tad bad about manipulating her this way, but if it got him answers then he could deal with any residual guilt he might suffer.

He had already formed an opinion on the girl. She was clearly a loner, her obvious intelligence would set her apart naturally; but with her blood status it was a guaranteed outcome that she would have very little close contacts.

It was evident that she wanted someone to connect with, even someone she had no knowledge of. Was he a terrible person for capitalising on this glaring weakness? Probably. But he was more than willing to form some bond with the girl if it meant he had an open source on British affairs. Besides, she would likely be useful in other capacities later on.

“Well, your curiosity is definitely understandable now.” Hermione said, she took on a considering look. Hadrian kept quiet to allow the girl time to think. He was content to let her open up in her own time. Already she had given him a good amount of information. “And I’m not sure…” she trailed off, her voice turning a touch uneasy at the thought of sharing any more information with him.

Hadrian perched his head on his hand and smiled disarmingly at her. “How about a trade, then?” he suggested. “For every question you ask, I get to ask one in return. You are bound to have your own interests in my academy and country.” He let his smile turn a little more charming in a last effort to ensnare her.

She was an intelligent girl who desired knowledge. And here he was, dangling the opportunity for her to get information to her heart’s content. He could see her weighting the situation in her head, but he already knew what her decision would be. And true to his prediction, moments later she was giving a firm nod and facing him more fully.

He internally smirked at his success, and gestured for her to go first. It was another attempt to get her more relaxed before he started his real work. Letting her take the lead would give her the notion that she was in control; or at least was on even footing with him.

“What are three subjects you have at Beauxbatons that we don’t have here at Hogwarts?”

Academics. Of course she would go for academics.

“Medical Studies, Physical and Duelling.”

He could see the intrigue in her eyes grow, which only served to amuse him more. “What is you middle name?” She frowned in confusion at his question, clearly not anticipating that.

“Oh, it’s Jean. Hermione Jean Granger. After my grandmother.” Hadrian nodded at her to go while refraining from grinning at his luck. He assumed that Hermione would be like most lonely people who found solace in education; that she would be prone to providing more information than she was asked to subconsciously demonstrate her knowledge and prove her worth.

If she kept up with that attitude he would not even have to ask oddly invasive questions. The girl would willingly slip the information in without even realising it.

“What do you do in those subjects?”

“In Medical Studies we are taught basic procedures that might help ourselves or others in dangerous circumstances, as well as taught a thorough understanding of the human body. It depends on how skilled you are, but sometimes students are allowed to assist in the medical wing of our school if they are particularly gifted at the art.” He took a pause to get his breath back.

“Physical is the only non-magical subject we have. In all the others there are at least elements of magic. We simply train our bodies. It is a mixture of gymnastics, hand-to-hand combat and a variety of other skills that one might need if they want to be, say, an auror. Because of its popularity, it also ensure that most of our witches and wizards are in excellent physical condition.”

He had her well and truly interested now.

“Duelling is a subject available to third years and up. We are taught the proper forms and positions and, well,” he grinned, “we duel each other. The matches are strictly kept between year levels, however, occasionally a student is particularly powerful and is allowed to challenge students in the year above them.”

His grin became sly. “Very rarely, a student is able to compete with students in the senior years. They tend to be rather advanced."

There must have been something in his voice that caused her to look at him shrewdly. “And which one are you?” she asked. “The average, the slightly above, or the advanced?”

Hadrian merely winked at her, “What is your favourite colour?”

She did not look amused as his deflection, but understood that he would not answer before he had his turn. “Caput mortuum. Which one are you?”

He raised an eyebrow at her answer, clearly having some knowledge of it. “Pass.”

She gaped at him. “You have to answer!” she demanded. Hadrian chuckled at her.

“Do I? I do not recall that being in the deal. Ask another one.” She groaned, but did not put up much of a fight, because she could not refute his statement.

“Fine.” She scanned him intensely and Hadrian knew exactly what she as going to ask before she even opened her mouth. “Which are you then? Pureblood?” She was annoyed at his avoidance, so she was moving onto more personal matters.

Hadrian did not even twitch at the question as he said, “Muggleborn.” He had been lying about this for years, there were actually days when he forgot that he was only playing a role until the world was ready for Harry Potter to re-emerge.

He supposed that at some point the lines between the two began to blur for him. That he began to see himself as more Hadrian Evans than Harry Potter. An unfortunate by-product of his childhood, one that he would deal with when the situation arose.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You’re a muggleborn?”

“I am indeed. Tell me about your parents.”

A strange emotion crossed Hermione’s face, though it was difficult to tell if it was due to his blood status or his question. Her teeth began to worry into her bottom lip, and he could tell she was almost frightened to tell him more. Sensing weakness, he offered a little more information about his backstory in an attempt to loosen her tongue.

“My mother is from a long line of squibs. She, herself, only has a very minuscule amount of magic to use. My father was a muggle, so when I was born it allowed my own magic to flourish in a way that had been missing for generations. I technically grew up in the wizarding world, so I have never really experienced much of the muggle world. That is why I asked, you do not have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He leaned forward slightly and brushed his fingers against her clothed forearm gently. It was under the guise of giving her comfort, but it also allowed Hadrian to get a small glimpse of her emotions with a quick scan of his magic.

She was feeling both relieved and guilty. Hadrian knew precisely how to twist that to get what he wanted. He pulled his hand away. “You can ask me a question if you wish.”

“…you said ‘was’ when referring to your father.” It was not a question, but Hadrian took it as an opportunity to reveal a little more about himself. If Hermione saw him as more open to her, she would likely return the sentiment.

“Yes. My father died when I was five. It was a quick death; he did not feel any pain.” That was a blatant lie. James Potter undoubtedly suffered before he was killed. Hadrian knew his father was a very skilled duellist, and he knew that it was that fact alone that had allowed James to last as long as he had against the Dark Lord. He had managed to hold the man off long enough to let his mother escape with him.

Honestly, Hadrian did not know what would have happened had his father not had his wand on him that night. It was one of the reasons Hadrian tended to have his wand on him at all times, and why he invested so much effort into learning wandless magic. If he ever did lose his wand, he would not be defenceless.

Hermione reached over instinctively to touch his shoulder. Hadrian gave her a small smile, but he hardly felt any sadness concerning his father. It was more like a diluted loyalty he had for the man. Hadrian respected, admired and loved his father, but in reality he had barely any memories of the man that were not second hand from his mother, stories she would whisper to him when he was younger. Hadrian just did not have a connection with the man.

It was hard to love a shadow.

He wisely never told his mother this. She had gone to such great lengths to ensure the name James Potter was not forgotten in their – probably demolished – home in Godric’s Hollow. She would be devastated if she discovered his detached feelings towards the man.

“It is fine Hermione. It happened a long time ago.”

She looked dubious, and she did not remove her hand from its perch on his shoulder, but she did gain a rather pensive look. “I haven’t seen my parents since I was three years old.” She murmured softly.

Hadrian felt his heart give a little kick at his success. He really was interested to hear how Voldemort had handled the muggleborn populace. Hermione was his age, she had been born before Voldemort had secured his position as ruler of Britain. She would have a unique perspective.

“I still remember the day I was taken from them. I was playing outside, and I was approached by these three people dressed in funny robes.” There was a glassy look in her eyes as she remembered. “I didn’t understand what they were doing in the beginning, but the woman stayed with me while the men entered the house. It was only a few minutes, but when they came back outside the woman grabbed me and we disappeared. She took me to her house, and explained that I was magical, special.”

Hermione shook her head sadly. “When I demanded to go home she told me that my parents were not ‘fit to raise me’. She said they weren’t like us and that things were better this way. I found out a few years later – after I had tried to escape a number of times – that they had faked my death. My parents thought I had been killed in an accident. To the muggle world, Hermione Jean Granger died years ago.”

Hadrian felt pity for the girl, as well as a hefty dose of rage. This was yet more proof that Voldemort destroyed lives. “Did this happen to all of you?” He asked quietly, stewing in anger are the sheer audacity of the man. Hadrian knew that there would always be some contention between the wizarding and muggle worlds. He knew that realistically, the two would never be able to coexist in the way many idealists wanted.

But to outright kidnap muggleborn children and force them to live with complete strangers.

It made him sick.

Hermione nodded in answer to his question. “I’m sure one or two children are missed, but a majority of us are identified at birth and relocated to other homes. Either with a foster family or in one of the orphanages where we are giving a sort of introduction into the magical world. Not many remember that they even came from the muggle world. I don’t know how they cover up all the disappearances, though.”

Hadrian had no idea what to say to that. He hated even more that his brain immediately came up with several ways the kidnappings could be hidden. How easy it is to make someone disappear in a corrupt system, how with a few altered memories and false documentation a perfectly healthy baby could be classified as a stillborn. He also reasoned that there would be several key figures in the muggle world under firm control to keep these matters quiet.

One of the problems with studying an enemy as closely as Hadrian had, was that sometimes you start to understand their thought patterns.

“Hey,” Hermione said softly, capturing his attention fully. She gave him a smile – just a sad little quirk of her lips, “it’s alright Hadrian. Most of us that are even old enough to remember our lives before have come to terms with it. I don’t even know what I would say to my parents if I ever met them again; I’ve changed too much to ever be their little girl.”

She was trying to comfort him – as if he was the one brutally ripped from his family. Hadrian did not even want to consider what his life would have been like without his mother with him. He could never picture a world in which she was not there to support and guide him.

Hadrian reached up and grasped Hermione’s hand firmly. “I am sorry for what happened to you Hermione.” He said kindly, all thoughts of more information gathering trickling away. He briefly wondered if anyone had ever displayed her sympathy at her loss, rather than cool indifference at something that was no doubt seen as ‘normal’. “I am sorry that you had to go through that.”

She squeezed his hand back and gratefulness shone in every inch of her smile.

“Thank you, and it’s not all bad. The Malfoy’s might not be the warmest family, but they do not treat me terribly.”

She pulled away and began to set up her workspace as the classroom door opened and students began to slink in. Hadrian sat there, a little nonplussed at the casual reveal of her foster family.

Malfoy.

That horrible, bigoted, sanctimonious, arrogant man was Hermione’s foster father? One of Voldemort’s most trusted?

OoO

Hadrian Evans, Hermione decided as they departed from the Ancient Runes classroom, was utterly fascinating.

He was intelligent, something Hermione valued and appreciated, but he did not necessarily flaunt his knowledge in an arrogant manner. It was like it was a simple fact he carried with him, an assurance that wrapped around his lithe form snugly.

Hermione had always had a drive to prove herself in this world. To prove that her blood did not make her lesser. She had always been one to provide an answer if she had one, and enjoyed sharing her knowledge with others.

Hadrian, in contrast, did not actively showcase his intellect in class. In fact, he rarely seemed to even be listening to the professor. He simply sat there and remained reserved, not even taking notes.

It had boggled Hermione, but she was sure that if Hadrian was not taking notes - or even paying attention - then he was comfortable with the material.

It was only when the professor had noted his obvious lack of note-taking that Hadrian spoke for the first time since the class began. Hermione had not be ignorant of the way the two other Beauxbatons’ students had smothered small chuckles, and hid their grin behind their hands when their classmate was called on.

“Is something the matter, young man? Is the material too difficult?”

Hadrian had not even blinked at the condescending tone, or minded how Hermione’s peers had dissolved into their own quiet amusement at a foreign student being singled out.

Instead, he had smiled politely and dipped his head in deference that was entirely mocking.

“Not at all, Professor. I just find it pointless to take notes on something I taught myself two years ago.”

It had certainly been a bold move. The best part was that the professor could hardly punish Hadrian for being ahead of the material. So their class was treated to the rare sight of a professor being flustered, standing in front of a mild-looking Hadrian and trying to find a response.

Now, walking out of the classroom, Hadrian was approached by the two Beauxbatons students; a dark skinned boy and a beautifully tanned girl. They both had smiles on their faces and spoke to Hadrian in quick, fluent French. Whatever they said had Hadrian chuckling and responding with an unrepentant grin.

Hermione trailed behind them, feeling a tad intimidated despite herself. She had only just met Hadrian after all, and was unsure if he even wanted her around while with his actual friends. But he was once again carrying a few of her books, so she had no choice but to go with them.

But she still watched how they interacted. How the other two seemed to unconsciously follow Hadrian, walking roughly half a step behind him as they were led back to the main hall.

As they piled onto the stairs, the girl gave a sharp grin and gestured at Hadrian’s neck. It was then that Hermione noted the several purple marks on his neck, only light – but on his pale skin they positively burned.

She heard a name. ‘Jacob’. With the leering grins, and Hadrian’s unaffected attitude, she concluded that this ‘Jacob’ was possibly the one that put those marks all along Hadrian’s neck. With a flush she darted her eyes away.

“Oh, yes. This is Hermione Granger. Hermione, these are two of my classmates, Albert and Sophia.”

Hermione snapped to attention and hurriedly extended her hand to shake. Sophia gave her a polite, yet cool nod and grasped her hand for only a few moments before releasing her. Albert, on the other hand, copied Hadrian’s earlier greeting by tugging her hand higher and bending to place a soft kiss on the back of her palm. “Pleasure.” He said while giving her a simple, dimpled smile. It made him look like he was twelve, even though Hermione knew he had to be at least sixteen.

She smiled back, suddenly very aware that her hair was a frizzy mess, likely having strands poking out, and stupidly worried that her teeth were still too large for her. Compared to the three of them she felt like a toad; they were all just stunning and groomed to perfection.

Sophia said something, her voice no longer having the light-hearted lilt to it. Hermione might not speak French, but she was well versed in being insulted. She would recognise that tone anywhere.

Albert seemed mildly amused by whatever she had said, though it was Hadrian’s reaction that stole her attention. His mouth was twisted into a smile, but not one he had shown her throughout their brief acquaintanceship. This was a smile she imagined a shark might give its next victim – and it was aimed at Sophia with a vengeance.

Hadrian spoke once again, not in French, and his words were so crippling cold that Hermione was instantly reminded of the Dark Lord whenever he came to the manor to speak with Lucius.

“Remember who you are speaking to Sophia. After all, I have dirty blood as well.”

And it would have been funny, how quickly Sophia went pale, if not for the very real fear present in her eyes as she looked at Hadrian.

Hermione thought back to the smug look Hadrian had given her when she asked what level of dueller he was. She wondered if his classmates were already well versed in how powerful he was. She wondered what Hadrian could have possibly done to get such a reaction in the first place.

Sophia ducked her head in chastisement, as if she were unable to handle the weight of Hadrian’s gaze. “I…apologise for my ‘arsh words. I was out of line.” Even though the words were directed at her, Hermione could see that Sophia’s eyes were trained intently on Hadrian, seeking approval.

The boy in question merely dismissed Sophia by turning to Hermione. “Sorry about that, which class do you have next Hermione?”

“I have Potions, it’s down in the dungeons.” He quirked an eyebrow and she felt her lips twitch in response to his mild interest at the word ‘dungeons’. She forgot that these other schools had completely different buildings and layouts – and she certainly doubted that they would have dungeons of their own. Well, at least Beauxbatons would not; she would not be surprised if Durmstrang did.

“Albert, what about you?” Albert hummed, but answered Hadrian’s brisk question without delay.

“Potions as well.”

“Perfect,” Hadrian deposited the books he carried for her into the other boy’s arms. “then you can walk there with Hermione.”

“Wait,” she said unthinkingly, “you don’t have Potions?”

Hadrian shook his head, looking a little disappointed himself – though whether that was because he loved the subject or wanted to spend more time with her, she could not tell.

“No, I have Medical Studies next, unfortunately.” Albert laughed loudly, having already rearranged his new load into a more comfortable position.

“The one subject you don’t completely rule.” He said with an almost obscene amount of glee.

Together they stepped off the staircase. “I’m still ranked second, Albert. That’s nothing to scoff at.”

“Yes, but it’s still endlessly amusing.”

Hadrian rolled his eyes and waved a hand at them dismissively. “Well, have fun in the dungeons, I have a cactus to suck dry.” Hermione gazed after him as he walked off, steps confident despite not having much experience navigating the castle.

Sophia muttered something to Albert and ducked off after Hadrian.

“Well,” Albert said brightly as he turned to her. “shall we go?”

Hermione startled and snapped her eyes away from where the other two had disappeared. “Did Hadrian really already know the topic we were learning?” The question slipped out without thought. She had no opportunity to feel mortified or embarrassed because Albert scratched his head.

“To be 'onest? I 'ave no clue – 'e probably did. 'e doesn’t pay that much attention in class because 'e teaches 'imself the material beforehand. It annoys some of the professors but they 'ave given up trying to change 'im.”

“Because he gets good marks?” She guessed as she led them further into the dungeons. Albert laughed once again, though this time it was directed at her.

“'e doesn’t get good marks, 'e completely dominates 'is subjects. I am pretty sure they 'ad to invent a new mark just for 'adrian. 'is knowledge is ridiculous.”

Hermione felt something akin to understanding well up inside her. She had known Hadrian was intelligent, but to hear that he was exceptional made her feel like, maybe, finally, she had someone who she could relate to. “But he isn’t the top in Medical Studies?”

Albert let out a strange sound as his mouth stretched into a grin. “It was great when Claire beat 'im the first time. But 'adrian just does not 'ave the same level of precision that Claire does with some of the more difficult procedures. 'e has too much magic.”

Yes, Hermione decided. Hadrian was definitely fascinating.

OoO

Hadrian walked briskly away from Sophia with a group of other students, not in the mood to listen to her false apologies or placations. He did not know why her snide comment had grated on him so much; maybe it was because he felt a little protective of Hermione due to her troubled past, or maybe it was because he hated how his classmates seemed to always forget that he was not a pureblood.

Hadrian Evans might pretend to be a muggleborn, but Harry Potter was a halfblood. Either way, he disliked any form of blood prejudice – and his classmates should have remembered his stance on the matter. He did not care what they thought of halfbloods or muggleborns, as long as they kept it to themselves he had no problem with them.

“So,” Raina drawled from beside him, “what did she do?”

He glanced at the girl, “What makes you think she did anything?”

She scoffed, “Please. You come to us scowling up a storm, followed by a clearly scared Sophia who was trying to spout apologies. She obviously did something to piss you off.”

Hadrian scanned her face for a few more seconds before humming out something vaguely like an agreement. Raina’s lip twitched upwards in momentary amusement, before her expression cooled. Her eyes were trained on something else, and following her gaze he understood exactly what was on her mind.

Claire had been unusually quiet since their group had met up just outside the main hall, letting the other girls they were with keep the conversation flowing. Hadrian had noted her lack of enthusiasm and had glanced over at her regularly – but she seemed to be intentionally avoiding his gaze.

It was worrying for him, because he could not come up with one idea as to the cause of her strange mood.

Madame Maxime was waiting for them before they even entered the carriage. Her sharp eyes swept over them, assessing and deeming them satisfactory if the small smile she gifted them was any indication. “Once you collect your equipment, join me back here.” She ordered sweetly.

Hadrian slipped away from Raina and the other students as he headed for his room. He passed Claire on his way and tried to make eye contact with her, however she ducked inside her own room and closed the door before he could.

It was perplexing, and slightly annoying that he could not understand why she was doing this. Had he said something recently that had upset her? They had not spoken much since the feast, in fact, he had only really spoken to – Oh.

Hadrian blinked as the revelation came to him, his hands pausing in their gathering of his medical kit.

One of his hands rose and lightly traced over his uncovered neck, where several vicious purple marks were visible. He had not even thought to cover them this morning, and he had no doubt that the marks he had left on Jacob’s neck were uncovered as well.

It did not take a genius to put two and two together. They went into their room last night together, and emerged in the morning both baring obvious marks. He had been dealing with comments all day, after all. He felt like a bastard.

Claire was enamoured with Jacob; to see the one you desired with someone else would be miserable for anyone. The fact that it was Hadrian would be even worse, because he knew of her feelings and he was with Jacob regardless.

He breathed through his nose harshly. He would have to fix this. Claire was one of his closest confidents, he did not want anything jeopardising their friendship.

He grabbed his kit and made for the door, flicking his wand at the two beds as he left so they righted themselves and smoothed over – the rumpled sheets now irritating him.

He was the last to join the others outside, and endured the brief look of disapproval from Madame Maxime as he slid up the back of the group. Fortunately, the formidable woman did not say anything about his tardiness.

“We will be continuing from your last class. Unlike Beauxbatons, Hogwarts does not possess a suitable room for us to practice our studies for this subject in.” The slight twitch of her cheek was indicative of her annoyance at this fact. “Due to the confidential nature of some of our procedures and techniques we will be forced to make use of another classroom.”

A few of the students made disapproving titters at the news, apparently scandalised that Hogwarts did not have any medical classes. Hadrian, similarly, found the notion absurd. France was internationally renowned for its impressive medical programs – producing some of the world’s finest medics and healers, and being responsible for a number of medical breakthroughs – because it offered such courses to its students. He would have thought it obvious to other countries by now to follow their example.

As a group, they began to trek back up towards Hogwarts, and were met with two older students, a boy and a girl, both with yellow and black ties. They spoke to Madame Maxime, and after a moment gestured for them to follow; leading them to a large, empty classroom.

Minutes later, Hadrian was staring hard at the cactus in front of him, wand pointing directly at it.

His eyes flickered over the method written in his textbook and with some hesitance he began the spell. Immediately the tip of his wand glowed a soft blue, a colour that mirrored the one surrounding the cactus.

This was a particularly difficult procedure that required a high level of concentration and careful control of one’s magic. Hadrian had the concentration and control, but sometimes he had trouble regulating the amount of magic he channelled into the spell.

He just had to –

The cactus exploded.

“Fucking hell–”

“Mr. Evans.”

Hadrian bit the curse off and turned to stare up at Madame Maxime. The look on her face was purely unimpressed, and downright judgemental. It maybe would have made him feel rebuked if he did not have cactus pieces clinging to him.

He could hear most of the others dissolve into giggles. At least until three more cacti simultaneously shattered, and Madame Maxime was forced to make rounds.

Hadrian refrained from scowling, and cleaned the mess his own cactus had made with a quick flick of his wand. That done, he made for the bench near the back of the room that was lined with pots of different cacti. He selected one without needles and made his way back to his bench.

When he passed by Claire’s station though he stopped and placed the pot down. Claire did not react to his uninvited presence as she continued to draw out a steady stream of juice from the plant in front of her.

Hadrian took a moment to marvel at the girl’s complete mastery of the art. This procedure was mainly used to extract poisons from the bloodstream, without rupturing arteries, veins or capillaries. It was a more obscure procedure and was not recommended to try without a team of healers present to assist, but it was a handy skill to have at their disposal.

Eventually, Claire had extracted all of the liquid and guided it into the bowl beside her. Only then did she lower her wand and fix him with a sharp look. Hadrian leaned against her bench and returned the stare with equal intensity.

“I know you are mad at me,” he began kindly, “and I know the source of it.”

“And I know that you were waiting for a chance to confront me, in a public setting, so that I would not react in an undignified manner.” Her voice was like a whip and Hadrian could not resist the amused grin at her observation.

The look slid off of his face though, “I am sorry, Claire. About the situation.”

Something ugly flashed through her eyes, but it was difficult to pinpoint it behind the hurt on her face. “I am not mad that you and Jacob are…involved, Hadrian. I am mad over the fact that you did not tell me.” She shook her head, “You mislead me when I first asked about your relationship and I believed you because you are my friend. That is why I am mad.”

Hadrian took a moment to roll her words over in his mind. It was perfectly understandable why she would feel hurt – betrayed, really – over this whole thing, and he knew he had to smooth this over before it had a chance to bubble into something bigger.

“Still, allow me to explain?” He stepped around the bench so he was next to her, but did not make any move to touch her. Claire was angry right now, and physical contact could push her further away. She offered no complaint, so he continued.

“Jacob and I care for each other, a great deal. But whatever is going on between us is not permanent or substantial.” And that was true. He and Jacob had a clear understanding on what their relationship was. “It’s just fun, a stress-relief if you will. We are more than prepared to break off any intimacy we have at any point in time.”

He could literally see her relaxing, and in turn he lost some of the tension that coiled in his own body. Claire looked away, down at the bowl of liquid, and frowned lightly. Hadrian gave her a chance to think through whatever she needed.

“You truly don’t hold romantic feelings for Jacob?” she asked, almost as if she were afraid to hear his answer.

Hadrian snorted – unable to keep the noise inside. She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “No, I do not love Jacob, not in the context that you are suggesting. He is my best friend, who I occasionally have sex with. Nothing more.”

“Very well, I believe you Hadrian. But if I find out that you have lied to me again I will make sure you regret it.”

Hadrian nodded in acceptance, and basked in the companionable silence before gesturing to his cactus.

“Think you can give me some tips so I do not end up covered in crap again?”

Claire laughed at him.

Chapter Text

Claire’s arm was threaded through his as they walked. Her cheeks were flushed from laughter as Raina once again recounted Hadrian’s numerous failures at the procedure, with vindictive glee. He allowed the girls to continue to mock him – with more leniency then he usually would – because it made Claire happy and that was all he wanted for the moment.

Hadrian knew that while she had forgiven him for not telling her truth about his relationship with Jacob, she was still hurt by it. He did not think that she was jealous, merely that she was upset over the situation itself.

Which was why he had specifically waited for her this morning so he could escort her to breakfast and ensure that she was in a good mood.

It was just his luck that Raina had tagged along. They might not be friends, but they both had a common interest in Claire, and both wanted her to be herself again. So for now, they would tolerate each other for their friend.

“I only failed three times,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I succeeded in the end, before most of the class if you remember.” He gave Raina a pointed look, causing her to flush. While Raina’s cactus might not have exploded, it had taken her a substantial amount of time to correctly remove the juice without rupturing the plant.

Raina quickly recovered from her embarrassment, and shot him a goading smirk. “It is the fact that you failed at all that amuses me. The great Hadrian Evans – beaten by a simple cactus. You do realise how quickly this will spread, yes?”

“Now Raina, it’s not Hadrian’s fault.” Claire said, still smiling. “That was a difficult procedure to learn. It is not supposed to be used unless a patient is poisoned with something particularly potent and there is no other option available to remove it. We are not even supposed to use it by ourselves it’s that dangerous.”

Claire turned her smile up at him and squeezed his arm affectionately. “You need at least four healers to properly balance the spell. The fact that any of us could manage it at all is impressive.”

Hadrian snorted, “So says you, you completed the spell your first try Claire.”

She blushed at his offhanded praise. “There is still a significant difference between a cactus and a human body. I doubt I would manage it so easily if it was an actual patient. You have to be mindful of everything – their heartbeat, their breath, wounds; and not to mention you need to know the properties of the poison itself – how fast-acting it is, what it does.” She shook her head, “No, I would probably rupture something doing the extraction on a person.”

Hadrian once again marvelled quietly at the girl. She truly would make a remarkable mediwitch one day, should she wish to. Her innate understanding of the human body was extraordinary, and her ability to master these healing spells rivalled his skills in duelling.

It was one of the reasons he was not bothered by Claire beating him in Medical Studies. She deserved every ounce of praise.

“It’s still impressive,” Raina insisted, “and I know for a fact that Madame Maxime is talking about getting you an interview with Healer Alexis.”

Claire gasped loudly, and even Hadrian was taken by surprise. Healer Alexis was one of the leading mediwitches in Europe, and was known to occasionally mentor students – but only those that displayed unparalleled proficiency in the healing arts.

If what Raina said was true – and it would be, Hadrian knew, she would not tell Claire otherwise if there was any room for her to be wrong – and Claire was taken under Healer Alexis’ wing it guaranteed that she would be able to work at any medical facility across Europe.

It also spoke highly of how Madame Maxime and their professors viewed Claire’s abilities.

Hadrian removed his arm from Claire’s and wrapped both of them around her waist. He quickly picked her up and spun her around, the hallway echoing with her bright, startled laughter.

Hadrian dropped her after one spin and smiled at her. “Promise that you will still treat me after you become a big, famous healer?”

Claire grinned at him, blue eyes crinkling in pure, unfiltered delight. “As long as you always have time for me after you become Minister, Mr. Evans.” She responded coyly.

He bowed at her mockingly, well aware of Raina’s exasperation at their play. “As if I would turn you away, Madame Daniau.”

“Stop being such children,” Raina drawled, her posture practically screaming disinterest, but there was a light to her eyes that betrayed her amusement. Hadrian straightened as Claire dipped into a graceful curtsy, and faced the other girl.

“You do not need to be so bitter, Raina.” He stepped closer to her, “If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was ask.” Before the dark haired girl could move he grabbed her around the waist as well and lifted her into the air, much like he had with Claire.

“Put me down you bastard!” she snapped, her hand viciously swatting him wherever it could reach. With a laugh he let her go, immensely enjoying watching her teeter unsteadily away from him.

“Animal!” She spat, hurriedly fixing her uniform as her face flamed.

“Harpy,” he snipped back.

He spotted Claire smiling at him off to the side. He cocked an eyebrow at her, “What?” he asked. It was not an amused smile, but rather something soft and sweet.

She blinked at him, but continued to watch him with that fond expression. “I like you like this.” Was all she said, and then she and Raina were walking arm-in-arm together towards the Great Hall, heads bent together in secrecy.

Hadrian paused for just a moment, partially bewildered at Claire’s words. He trailed after them regardless, eventually sliding up beside them. Whatever the two had been whispering about seemed to be over.

He mentally shrugged, knowing it did not really matter. The two of them were always whispering about one thing or another. He had long ago stopped being concerned over what exactly they spoke about.

As they entered the Great Hall, Hadrian’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the flickering flame of the goblet. The hunkering form was situated securely in the very middle of the room, and it instantly shattered any warmth he felt.

His green eyes dragged themselves painstakingly over the goblet as his mind flashed back to the other night.

That man…

“You are remarkably talented to have remained hidden for so long.”

He clenched his fists as the memory of the man’s smooth voice whispered through his mind. Just the thought of those cold blue eyes had him feeling anxious, as if even now he was being watched.

While he had spent most of yesterday in a relatively good mood, flushed with success at getting his answers and his narrow escape; he had held a lingering sense of paranoia that at any moment he would come across that man and everything would be revealed.

So much rested on his ability to remain hidden, all the plans he and his mother had been cultivating for years could be undone if he made one mistake.

It was unbelievably daunting, and yet Hadrian only felt a small amount of trepidation. Perhaps it was his age, or simple arrogance, but he knew he could handle this; looked forward to the challenges even.

All he had to do was make sure the man never made the connection between Hadrian and the other night, and it would be fine.

Momentarily soothed, Hadrian insouciantly cast his eyes over the tables. It was still quite early in the day, and the hall reflected the students’ opinion on waking up at this time. There were only a few students present, some clustered together in groups, but most spread along the tables.

His eyes landed on one student bent over a large tome, absently sipping at a cup of what appeared to be tea.

With a small grin he slipped away from Claire and Raina and approached Hermione, happy to see her once again.

He cleared his throat gently when he was close enough to be heard, so as not to startle her too badly, “Bonjour, Hermione.”

Despite his best intentions, the girl jerked. Big brown eyes snapping up to look at him in mild shock. “Hadrian.” She said.

“Usually, people sound more excited when they say that,” he said as he sat next to her. He leaned his elbows on the table, not even reacting as the plate in front of him filled with a few slices of golden toast, already buttered, and his glass filled with juice.

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to…join me.” She trailed off for a split second, eyes darting up and across the table. Hadrian, already aware of Claire and Raina coming to a halt on the other side of them, only hummed as he took a sip of his juice.

“I suppose it is early still. You do not mind do you? If we joined you?”

“Of course not, and,” she smiled sweetly at him, “good morning Hadrian.” She turned to the two other girls and her smile turned a tad hesitant. Hadrian knew she was remembering Sophia’s undesirable attitude. “Good morning,” she seemed to steel herself.

“I’m Hermione Granger.”

Hadrian was impressed that Hermione was, in a way, brave enough to put herself in a similar situation as yesterday. She had no knowledge of how Claire or Raina viewed muggleborns, yet she was taking a chance.

Of course, Hadrian was hardly concerned with how the girls would react – while they were both purebloods themselves – they had outgrown any closeminded opinions about blood statuses.

Hadrian had long ago provided enough evidence to quell any negative arguments.

Claire returned Hermione’s smile, “Bonjour,” she trilled. Raina, never as tactful as Claire, frowned.

“I will not even begin to attempt to say your name.” She said, “For I have no desire to insult you.” She sniffed and took a slow drink from the tea that had appeared in front of her.

Hermione blinked rapidly a few times, before her smile became genuine. Claire leaned her chin on her steepled fingers and stared boldly at the Hogwarts girl.

“How did you meet Hadrian?” she inquired.

Hermione flushed, “Oh, it’s a little embarrassing really,” her eyes darted to him before flying back to the Claire. “we bumped into each other when walking around a corner and fell over.” She let out a small laugh, “We had the first class together, so I walked him there and we got to know each other on the way.”

“You…fell over?” Claire asked him, sounding more than a little surprised. Hadrian shrugged.

“She caught me by surprise. I did not have time to react.”

“I am shocked your Quidditch reflexes did not save you.” Raina said plainly, taking a dainty bite of her breakfast.

“You play Quidditch?” Hermione piped up curiously. Hadrian shrugged once again.

“Only a little.”

Claire scoffed, “A little? You are the best seeker our school has seen in almost two centuries. You even beat Viktor.”

It was Hadrian’s turn to scoff. “Firstly, I did not beat him. We ended in a draw. And secondly, if my memory serves, your grandmother holds the record of most catches at Beauxbatons.”

“Technicalities. Drawing with Viktor is as good as beating him.”

“Viktor?”

Hadrian turned to Hermione when she spoke. “Viktor Krum,” he explained briefly, “is the seeker for the Bulgarian Quidditch team and one of the best seekers in the world. Last year we ended up competing in the same tournament together, just a little European seeker contest for charity. We got to the finals and tied.”

“That’s very impressive,” she complimented, though from the tone of her voice Hadrian deduced she was not terribly interested in Quidditch. Still, her praise pleased him and he grinned at her. “I imagine he wasn’t too happy with your draw?”

Raina chuckled, “On the contrary, they are as thick as thieves. Viktor wishes for Hadrian to join the French international team so they can versus each other properly. Something about ‘finally having someone worth playing against’.”

“He did not say that.” He said exasperated, but the girls paid him no mind.

“Are you thinking of professional Quidditch as a career?” Hermione asked him, and Hadrian took a moment to ponder. He noted both Claire and Raina watching him closely as well, eager to hear his so far unspoken plans for his future.

“I know it would be exhilarating, and I know I would be good at it, but it’s not where my primary interests are I am afraid. I have my eyes set on a different path.”

“Which is..?” the brown haired witch prompted, looking annoyed at his vague answer.

Hadrian chuckled at her and bit into his toast, moaning in pleasure at the taste. He caught Raina’s judging look and shrugged. “What? It’s very good.”

She shook her head at him, but seemed to accept that he would not divulge his career ideas yet, for she said, “Just try not to have an orgasm while eating. That tends to put people off their food.”

He smiled lecherously at her, the conversation easily flowing from their previous topic, and jabbed a corner of his toast at her. “Trust me, darling. You would know if I had an orgasm. I have been told the face I make is positively sinful.”

Beside him, Hermione choked on her next sip of tea. Claire and Raina barely batted an eye at his declaration, though both were slightly flushed. Hadrian triumphantly took another bite of his breakfast, green eyes daring Raina to start something.

“You are disgusting.” The girl snapped, leaning backwards as if to escape him without leaving her seat.

“You are just jealous that you have never had the opportunity to see it,” he purred, absolutely delighted that he had found another button to push.

Something flashed through Raina’s eyes, before it was covered by anger. “Maybe if you did not whore yourself out, I would consider it.”

“I can count the number of people I have actually slept with on one hand, you harlot.”

“And how many hands would you need to count the people you have sloppily thrown yourself at?” She asked, mouth twisting in cruel amusement – the same expression she always got when they started one of their more lengthy battles.

“Well, we would be here all day if I did that.” He dropped his toast and wiped his hands together to get rid of the crumbs. “But that just means I have plenty of experience.” He slyly looked at her through his fringe. “What about you, Raina? Still waiting for your future husband to fulfil all those naughty fantasies you have?”

Before anyone could continue, a foot connected brutally with his shin, making him jerk reflexively. “Merde.” He spat, hunching a little and curling his legs under his seat to protect them. He cast his eyes suspiciously between Claire and Raina.

“You’re behaving like children, and we have company.” Claire told him calmly, not at all bothered that she had hurt him. Hadrian darted a look at Hermione to see her practically stewing in embarrassment.

He completely missed the meaningful glance between Claire and Raina.

“Apologies, Hermione.” He said, just the right amount of regret in his voice to cover his amusement. She looked beyond grateful that they had stopped their teasing.

“It’s alright,” Hermione let out a breathy, almost shocked kind of chuckle, “it was just an…interesting conversation.”

“What was?”

The new voice cut through their conversation effortlessly, and Hadrian twisted to look behind him to find the speaker.

He was quite handsome, with his sharp features and slim build. Plus, his colouring – blond hair and stormy grey eyes – painted him in an increasing attractive light. Hadrian leaned his head on his hand and unabashedly let his eyes roam; he already knew exactly who this was, but the boy’s last name did nothing to put him off enjoying the view.

The boy’s uniform was immaculate as well, despite the fact that he had no outer black robe, and his sleeves were casually rolled up to his elbows.

“Draco,” Hermione greeted, a tentative smile on her face and a surprising amount of warmth in her tone. “Good morning, did you sleep well?”

Draco Malfoy resembled his father as much as Jacob resembled Éric, and while Hadrian could spot the dangerous intelligence lurking the boy’s eyes, he saw none of his father’s casual disdain for people of lower status. Interesting.

“I slept fine,” Draco waved away Hermione’s inquiry, though there was a hint of fondness there. Hadrian’s eyes flickered between the two Hogwarts students, taking in the way Hermione’s posture had actually relaxed further.

He knew she was the Malfoy’s ward, and would have likely grown up alongside Draco, but he wondered how they viewed each other. Were they simple acquaintances? Like brother and sister? Closer?

Draco’s eyes met his, and Hadrian let his mouth curl into something slow and appreciative. The other boy did nothing more than raise an eyebrow before turning back to Hermione, tugging an envelope from his pocket and holding it out for her.

As Hermione accepted the letter he spoke. “Mother sent that through for you,” he then turned his attention back to Hadrian.

The two boys spent a moment merely studying each other, with Draco ending the slightly uncomfortable silence by holding out his hand. “Draco Malfoy.” Was all he offered as an introduction.

Hadrian’s eyes drifted from Malfoy’s extended hand, up his arm – bare forearm, he noted distantly – to his face.

I wonder how far the apple has fallen from the tree?

He took Draco’s hand firmly.

“Hadrian Evans, and this is Claire Daniau, and Raina Séverin.”

He watched closely for any reaction to his name, but Draco was either far more skilled than his father at hiding his opinions, or perhaps his childhood with Hermione had dulled an immediate abhorrence for anything muggle.

Whatever it was, Hadrian found himself further intrigued.

He kept a loose grip on Draco’s pale hand, amused that neither of them were about to drop the contact. He probed the other’s emotions, finding his own curiosity reflected back, and felt the urge to grin.

“So,” he began politely, “the Minister’s son himself.” Hadrian’s smile turned wicked. “It’s an honour.” He purposefully rubbed his thumb along the back of Draco’s hand.

The other boy tilted his head to the side in a way that was entirely predatory. Hadrian felt his pulse quicken when Draco returned his smile with a smirk. It seemed they were about to start a game, and it had been so long since Hadrian had had someone new to play with.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” those grey eyes drilled into him, “I haven’t heard of you.” And he so clearly taking a jab at Hadrian’s lack of noticeable family connection. In their world, it was all about who you were, and who you knew.

It was a simple little insult, just to test the waters.

“I cannot blame you for not knowing me.” Hadrian release Draco’s hand and rearranged himself so he was facing the boy, leaning comfortably back against the sturdy table. “Though I’m sure by the end of this year you will be well aware of who I am.” His fingers reached up and brushed some of his fringe out of his eyes, and he smiled coyly.

Draco’s lips twitched in obvious amusement, “Will I now?” he asked.

“Oh definitely, I have been known to…make an impression on people.”

Draco somehow managed to look both interested and doubtful at the same time, and Hadrian slouched some more, practically marinating in confidence. “I might not be from such an esteemed family as your own, but what I lack in pedigree I make up for in other areas.”

“I’m sure,” the other boy drawled in a practiced manner. “that you have a number of…hidden talents.”

Hadrian nearly laughed aloud at that, and pressed his lips together to stop himself from dropping any innuendos. He was almost positive Draco had not meant that in a sexual way, so he refrained from falling into that line of conversation again.

“Alright, Hadrian,” Claire interrupted with mirth coating her words. “Enough peacocking, let us finish breakfast in peace.”

OoO

Hadrian watched Draco from the corner of his eye as they made their way through the dungeons of Hogwarts. The longer he spent in the other boy’s company, the more fascinated he grew.

It had been a surprisingly nice breakfast, even as the Great Hall slowly began to fill with students. Draco had opted to join them, though he had remained quiet for most of the time, sharp eyes flittering between the rest of them.

Particularly, Hadrian had noted with amusement, he and Hermione.

Hadrian had not been fooled by the carefully neutral expression that had been on Draco’s face. The boy had been analysing him, Claire and Raina. He had been silently gathering information, forming opinions and calculating everything about them.

It had been exciting, if he was completely honest. To have someone he had to actually watch himself with.

In his time at Beauxbatons, Hadrian had grown quite comfortable in his abilities to – if need be – deceive his classmates. He had had years to study them and learn their patterns and habits. Years to perfect the art of manipulating those that would be his largest audience in the future, of controlling their opinions of him.

But here…Oh the challenges.

Ignoring the very real danger he was in due to Voldemort’s presence, Hadrian felt beyond exhilarated at the chance to put everything he had learned, every skill he had mastered, to the test. He had a whole school of students he could pit himself against after all.

Right now though, he was more than content to keep his attention on Draco.

Hadrian’s eyes slid to the other boy once again in contemplation.

“Hermione is your foster sister?” he asked to break the silence between them. He knew he had picked a good topic when Draco shot him a suspicious look.

“Yes.” He answered shortly, clearly not feeling the need to elaborate.

Come now pretty boy, you don’t think I will give up that easily, do you?

“She is a remarkable witch,” he continued, gauging Draco’s reactions closely. “and incredibly smart as well.”

“She is.”

Clearly Draco was not as loose-lipped as his foster sister, or as willing to let his guard down. Not that it mattered, Hadrian was sure he could get something out of the other before they arrived at the Potions’ classroom.

“Tell me about this professor, Carrow, wasn’t it?” He figured changing the topic to a more neutral one would relax his companion, seeing as Draco had tensed the moment he had mentioned Hermione’s name.

The other boy gave him a shrewd look, “Professor Carrow is a strict teacher, and accepts nothing but competence from her students. She detests failure or stupidity, and is not hesitant to hand out punishment to anyone if they displease her.”

“Understandable,” Hadrian nodded, “Potions is a dangerous subject and requires maturity. Only a fool would act carelessly when surrounded by potential bombs.”

Draco snorted, “A fool indeed. Are you any good?”

“Top of my class in nearly every subject, Potions being one of them. Why?”

The blond grinned at him, “Just scoping out prospective partners for today’s lesson. Ever heard of Potion No. 86?”

Hadrian narrowed his eyes in thought as he searched his memory. “I believe so – it is a poison, yes?”

Draco inclined his head in approval. “A highly toxic potion, and is consequently the one we will be making today. Professor Carrow has been hoping to throw some of the other schools by using an unnamed, largely unknown potion as a starting point.”

Hadrian chuckled. “She will be vastly disappointed then, we did highly toxic poisons last semester. We did not make No. 86, but we covered it.”

“Good to know I will have a partner that knows what they are doing then. Here we are.”

Hadrian smiled to himself at the compliment as he followed the other into a small, grimy classroom lined with all sorts of concoctions. He leaned closer to look at some of the jars that lined the walls and grimaced at the state of some of them.

The laboratories at Beauxbatons were meticulously cleaned and sanitised after each class, the benches polished within an inch of their lives to ensure that no cross-contamination occurred. Everything was correctly labelled and stored appropriately, out of reach of students when not in use.

To see this Potions’ classroom in such a disgusting state was rapidly dismantling his so far glowing opinion of Hogwarts. Potions was one of his favourite classes, and he was severely disappointed right now.

“Come on,” Draco gestured to one of the front benches, the ones behind it already occupied by a number of Durmstrang students. With a sweeping glance Hadrian recognised the female student who nominated herself after the welcoming feast, as well as the boy who had conjured the fire dragon in the hallway.

He hesitated at placing his bag on the benchtop, studying the discoloured, disfigured surface with concern.

There were snickers behind him, and a voice, low and guttural that spoke in German.

“Look at this one. I think his delicate sensibilities have been offended.”

Draco looked up at the Durmstrang students, but Hadrian could tell the other boy did not understand what was said from the confused crease between his brows.

“Not offended,” he replied, tilting his head to glance at them over his shoulder. “just worried I’ll contract something if I touch anything here.” He bit back a grin at their surprise that he not only understood them, but had responded.

Hadrian pointedly placed his bag on his seat, and turned his attention to the Durmstrang students. “Next time, if you have something to say, say it to my face.” he advised, “And if you want to insult someone behind their back, make sure to do it in a language they cannot speak.”

There was a tense moment where they simply stared at each other, before the dragon-boy’s face split into a large grin “Vell said täubchen. Vell said.”

Hadrian raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he drawled, unimpressed at the nickname. The boy shrugged, mouth still curled upwards, his crispy blue eyes pinned to Hadrian’s face.

“I am Adalard Forst,” he introduced proudly. He did not offer his hand.

"Hadrian Evans, pleasure’s all yours, I am sure.”

The shift in their behaviour was immediate. “Schande.” One of the girls spat, eyes blazing with unholy anger. Hadrian almost rolled his own at her, only refraining because it would do nothing to defuse the situation.

“Say what you will, your words hardly affect me.” He said calmly, keeping his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Not in a defensive manner, but not by his sides, which could be seen as aggressive.

Whatever she was gearing up to say was cut off by the entry of more students. The girl snapped her mouth shut, her eyes never wavering from his. Hadrian calmly met and held the eye contact, waiting until she eventually dropped her gaze.

Draco cleared his throat, for the first time since Hadrian had met him he seemed out of place. “Professor Carrow will be here soon; best get ready, Evans.”

Hadrian nodded his thanks as he took his seat next to Draco, waving his hand absently over his workbench to clean away any residue that had not already become one with the surface. It was still horribly disgusting, but at least the chances of his ingredients becoming contaminated were lessened.

Draco’s sense of timing was impeccable, for seconds later Carrow was sweeping into the room.

Hadrian’s eyes traced the woman’s path as she briskly walked to the front of the room. His mind buzzed with information.

Alecto Carrow. Death Eater. Sister of Amycus. Excelled in the art of torture. Heavily involved during the war. Psychopath.

Beneath the desk, his fists clenched. Gods how he wished he could end her right now. To think that Voldemort had her teaching them. Did he not understand the dangers of having someone like her in charge of children?

No. The bastard probably knew all too well. He just did not care.

“Good morning class,” her voice was brittle and harsh, silencing any lingering conversations. “Today we will be brewing Potion No. 86, a potion known for its incredible lethality. One vial is enough to toxify a water source as big as the Black Lake.”

Hadrian had seen the lake on their way into Hogwarts, and even though he already knew exactly how potent this potion was he listened closely to Carrow. While he hated the woman, he could respect her ability to command a room.

“I expect you to have brewed a perfect example of this potion by the end of the lesson, you will find a list of ingredients and instructions in your textbooks, page 197. Your partner is whoever you share your bench with. Begin.”

Hadrian let Draco go and collect their ingredients as he flipped to the correct page and began to pull out the equipment they would need. The potion primarily used hellebore syrup and powdered moonstone, with only a few minor ingredients added to balance the two. It was mainly the brewing itself that tended to cause problems.

This was not a potion you could allow to settle until it was complete. It required constant stirring and attention to ensure it did not fail. It was actually quite a good potion for a pair to work on, as it needed someone stirring and someone adding ingredients continuously.

He had just finished pulling out all the equipment when Draco returned.

Together, they breezed through the preparation, hardly even needing to speak. Hadrian allowed the repetitiveness of the motions to wash over him, mind straying to his mother and his memories of them cooking in the kitchen together.

It was peaceful, and Hadrian enjoyed being able to work with a partner who was proficient at making potions. Draco was clearly a natural.

When it came to the brewing, Draco stirred while Hadrian timed and tossed in the appropriate ingredients exactly when they were needed.

The hour trickled by with neither boy realising, until they were pushing a stopper into their vial and cleaning their space.

Hadrian made Draco take the potion up to Carrow, not quite sure what he would do if he was so close to the woman – and definitely not liking the fact that she had been throwing him looks every few minutes with something uncomfortably scrutinising in her cold eyes.

It was a blessing when they were allowed to leave early. The combined weight of Carrow and Adalard’s eyes had been grating on his nerves for the entire hour, and the moment the heavy door swung shut behind them, Hadrian let out a soft sigh of relief.

Next to him, Draco stretched like a cat. “What do you have next?” The blond asked with a groan. Hadrian felt sorry for him, knowing how painful stooping over a cauldron could be, and Draco was a good couple of inches taller than him.

“Defence, I am pretty sure. You?”

“Defence as well. We had better head up there, it’s best to be early to that class.”

“Another hard-arse professor?” Hadrian inquired jokingly. Draco’s lips twitched in amusement as they made their way out of the dungeons.

“I wouldn’t call him that, exactly. I think you’ll like the professor. His class is, by far, the most interesting out of everything we offer here. Not just because of what we learn in it, but with how he teaches the subject.”

Draco shook his head with a little awe. “I swear the man could make flobberworms sound like the most fascinating creatures in existence.”

“Well that is the making of a good teacher. One that can engage with their students is more likely to get the best response. What is his name, anyway?”

“Hadrian! Draco!”

They both turned to see Hermione, Claire and Raina making their way towards them. The two boys halted before the staircases to give the girls a chance to catch up to them. “How was your free period?” Hadrian asked his classmates, watching partially as Hermione greeted Draco with a short hug.

“Boring, though Hermione did show us the library. It is quite spectacular.” Hadrian almost laughed at Claire’s slightly jumbled pronunciation of Hermione’s name, but his mind was already latching onto what came after.

“Library?” He recalled Hermione mentioning it briefly the other day, but he had not really caught it at the time.

“Oh, you would love it Hadrian,” Claire exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering that her friend was addicted to the Beauxbatons’ library. “It is not as large as ours, but it has a lot of books we do not. We must find some time to whisk you away there.”

“I’d be happy to show it to you sometime,” Hermione offered kindly as they stepped onto the staircases.

“If you are fine watching him slowly becomes one with the bookshelves.” Raina said off to the side. Hadrian gave her a look as Hermione laughed.

“I’m afraid I can’t judge him; I spend so much time in the library.”

“There’s nothing wrong with liking the library,” Draco said, mainly to Hermione. The girl in question merely gave him a gentle smile.

As one, their little group stepped off the staircase and followed Draco and Hermione as they lead the way to the Defence classroom. Claire’s arm automatically slipped through his, and Raina’s shoulder softly brushed against him as they walked.

“What do you think of Hogwarts so far?” Hadrian asked quietly, slipping back to French.

“I have said it before,” Claire murmured, “it is not home, but there is a charm to it. I do not mind the roughness so much anymore.”

"I see it too.” Raina said. “The students are nice enough, I suppose. A little unrefined, but they have all been courteous.”

“Have you run into any Durmstrang students?” he asked.

Both girls gave hums of agreement. “Well at least your encounters were better than mine.”

“What do you mean?” Raina asked, voice gaining a harsh quality. Hadrian blinked at the change of tone, startled.

“They called me schande.” He gave a small smirk at their sharp intakes of breath. “Not the worst, I will admit, but I want us to keep an eye on the other muggleborn students just in case. I can handle whatever they throw at me, but I do not want one of our own being targeted. Spread the word for me when you get the chance?”

They both nodded, expressions steely and eyes like knives.

Beauxbatons were fiercely protective of their own. They might fight amongst themselves, but they did not tolerate an attack from an outsider. Hadrian knew that his fellow classmates would be on the lookout for any unsavoury behaviour from the other schools.

"Here we are,” Hermione said, the five of them tagging onto the end of a stream of other students and entering the classroom. Hadrian took a moment to appreciate the simple, efficient layout of the room. There was a raised platform at the back of the room where the professor’s desk was perched, with enough free space left for someone to walk comfortably up and down.

In front of the platform were rows of desks, neatly arranged and evenly spread out.

Compared to the Potion’s classroom, this place was glorious, especially with the windows open – the morning air making the room nicely cooled.

Hadrian, Claire and Raina commandeered a desk for themselves, and began to set up their workspace. Hermione and Draco joined another student at the desk in front of them, the other boy wearing the same green and silver tie as Draco.

“I have heard good things about this professor.” Raina told them softly. “He is very capable, a universal favourite amongst the Hogwarts students.”

“Charles said something similar,” Claire added. “Apparently he started all the other classes off with a mock duel, or a demonstration of some sorts.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “All I know is that I am glad we will have a skilled teacher. He has travelled all over, according to-”

Hadrian tuned the two out, having heard more than enough. He let his eyes move around the classroom, inevitably coming to rest on the office door on the back wall, stone steps leading to it.

He was a little curious as to what they would be taught. He was not oblivious to the change of name from Defence Against the Dark Arts, to just Defence – and wondered how the two differed from each other.

Whatever the differences, he was sure he would have no trouble handling the work.

Minutes passed, with the room filled with the buzz of students’ voices, until they heard the door open. It was not the office door, like Hadrian had been expecting, but rather the one behind them that they had entered through.

He began to turn in his seat, when a voice stopped him cold.

“Forgive me for my lateness.”

No.

Polished shoes clicked on the stone floor as the professor made his way to the front of the room. Hadrian’s wide green eyes glued to him.

It’s him. The man from the other night.

The man gave them a charming smile, none of the terrifying power Hadrian had seen was evident on his aged face.

“For those of you who do not know, my name is Professor Riddle."

Chapter Text

The leaves crackled merrily under his feet as he once again marched forward, only to pivot and continue in the other direction. His hands were clasped tightly behind him as he paced back and forth single-mindedly.

Despite nearing midday, the forest floor was quiet and dark, with a certain chill to it that made his breath fog with each outtake.

His eyes occasionally darted from the leaf-covered ground to scan the brilliantly lit sky just visible through the tree tops of the Forbidden Forest; searching for any sign of an owl.

It had been over a day since he had sent his report, and he was getting anxious despite himself. He knew that when he took this job there would be a lot of watching and waiting for each new order to be delivered – not exactly his forte, he would readily admit – but this was bothersome.

He was a man of action, and worked best with only a loose goal in mind, where he had the freedom to make his way there with his own methods.

But this was too important for him to rush. Each little action he made had to be carefully done, because the consequences of failing again –

He stopped in his incessant pacing and took a moment to compose himself.

Even since he had first laid eyes on the boy, he had known exactly who he was. The resemblance was uncanny, and left him breathless with want. Simply overwhelmed with the desire to grab the child, wrap his arms around his lithe form and crush him in a hug long overdue; to tell him how much he had missed him, and how when he had first heard of the attack all those years ago he had been crippled with fear and loss.

Harry. Little Harry.

Involuntarily, a small bitter smile tugged at his mouth.

“Hadrian Evans, it’s a pleasure.”

Merlin, could they have not picked a better name? And why was the boy not swimming in glamours? Allowing him to just walk around looking like a carbon copy of his father…

He breathed harshly through his nose at the thought of his old friend, the horribly familiar ache in his chest pulsed with each heartbeat. To think it had been almost seventeen years since everything fell apart.

He still remembered the shock that had coursed through him when he had been given this assignment. How wrinkled hands had tenderly slipped the glowing trinket into his own and told him that Harry was alive and here.

He gently pulled the small thing from his robe pocket and stared at it. He had absolutely no idea what it was meant to be – some sort of muggle contraption – but just seeing the soft light emitting from it settled his nerves.

He had never really understood the significance of it all these years, for the trinket had never glowed or done anything before. That is, until three days ago. Now he knew all too well what it symbolised, which was why the sight of it soothed him greatly.

As long as that light was on, it meant Harry was alive and in Britain or Scotland.

It had never glowed before, because while Harry had been alive – he had been in another country entirely. The second the Beauxbatons’ carriage crossed their border the trinket recognised Harry’s return.

Carefully, he curled his long, calloused fingers around the object and slipped it back into his pocket with a sigh, content with the knowledge that somehow, miraculously, impossibly, Harry had survived Voldemort’s attack.

Which gave hope that Lily had as well.

The thought of the fiery red head brought the smile back to his face. He was warmed by the idea that Lily had escaped with Harry, that she had managed to keep him safe all this time, that she had the chance to raise him.

Or he hoped she had.

No. He thought heatedly. She’s still alive, I know it. That bastard Voldemort would have gotten Harry if she wasn’t.

He rubbed a hand down his altered face, betraying his weariness to the trees around him.

But why didn’t she come to us? He frowned and closed his eyes. Why run to a completely different country? Surely she knew we would be able to help her? That we would be able to keep Harry safe?

It troubled him deeply.

A soft hoot broke through his pondering, causing his eyes to snap upwards.

There, on a branch was a simple barn owl. It’s wide golden eyes stared down at him in consideration, clearly waiting.

“Lemon drop.” He said, loud enough to reach the bird’s ears, but quiet enough to not catch unwanted attention if someone else lurked nearby. The owl’s head twitched once in acknowledgement of the code word, and with another hoot it descended and dropped its burden into his waiting hand.

Without waiting for a response, or payment, the beautiful creature continued on its way and soon disappeared from his sight.

Taking a cautionary glance around him, suddenly feeling infinitely more paranoid, he broke the plain seal and pulled out the letter he had been awaiting, for what seemed like hours.

His eyes skimmed past the cursory pleasantries inscribed in elegant, curling writing. He had no patience now that he held his answer.

However, the longer he read, the bigger the knot in his stomach became.

When he finished, he slowly lowered the thick parchment as his mind whirred.

This is ridiculous! How in Merlin’s name does he think this will solve our problems?

He reread the letter just to be sure he understood exactly what was expected of him.

Does he even realise how dangerous this will be for Harry? And asking me to do it! The amount of risk to both of us…if anyone found out I would be revealed. And Harry – does he honestly expect me to betray him like this?

He groaned. Merlin, if Lily found out! She’d skin me alive and paint the ground with my blood.

Nevertheless, he tugged his wand free and set the letter alight, watching until the parchment was nothing but a pile of ashes fluttering to the forest floor. He dusted his hands together to get rid of the remaining evidence.

Sighing, he turned to face the castle.

For a moment he just stood there, taking in the magnificent sight before him and remembering a group of boys that were as thick as thieves and had the world at their feet.

His face hardened in determination. He trusted the other man, and if this is what he thought would help their cause, then by Merlin’s hairy balls, he was going to do it.

OoO

Calm down.

He took a slow breath, forcing his lungs to start working again. He pressed his hands flat against the desk to stop their faint trembling. He tore his eyes away from the man – his fucking Defence professor – and stared at the back of Hermione’s curly head.

“For our international students, I would like to take a moment to explain the differences between Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Defence, to avoid any confusion.”

Riddle’s voice held the same smoothness he remembered, though the steely quality that had accompanied it was replaced with something horribly nice to listen to; the words sliding into Hadrian’s head and snaring his full attention effortlessly.

He had thought Carrow’s presence had been impressive. This man was so far above her that it was ridiculous. He had not even done anything yet, and already Hadrian could see the changes in his fellow students.

The straightened backs, the attentiveness, the respectful silence.

Just like Carrow, Riddle radiated sheer confidence, though it was so much more concentrated. Even though the man was clearly broaching his seventies, he moved with a grace decades younger. He was thin and tall, had what must have once been dark brown hair, now peppered with white and wore robes of the highest quality.

All in all, he was an extremely well put-together, handsome older man.

And yet, all Hadrian could see was the predator from the other night. Lurking just below the sweet smile and soothing voice.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts, as the name suggests, focusses only on teaching students how to defend themselves from dark spells and creatures. But it has one significant flaw, can anyone tell me what that is?”

The answer came to the forefront of Hadrian’s mind without hesitation, as it was one of the greatest issues he had with the subject. He clamped his mouth shut and refused to speak.

“Yes?”

“It completely disregards defence against Light magic,” Raina answered dutifully from beside him. “A bombarda point-blank to the chest could be just as fatal as bone-crushing curse aimed at the ribs.”

“Correct, well done.”

Hadrian watched with a resigned expression as Raina smiled at the praise. It was disturbing. Raina was an intelligent witch, and Hadrian had heard their professors back home give her more flattering comments all the time. Yet a simple ‘well done’ from Riddle had her buzzing with excitement.

“Light magic can be just as dangerous to fight as Dark magic, though due to existing prejudices, many cultures have chosen to hate and fear Dark magic.” Riddle stood in front of them, blue eyes scanning over all the students. Hadrian stopped himself from dropping his gaze away from the man’s when their eyes met for a brief second.

There was a heart-stopping moment when Hadrian swore he saw recognition flare in the man’s expression before he was moving on.

Gods, calm down. He could have seen me at a feast or walking to a class. If he knew who I was he would have already approached me.

“It is because of this, that the curriculum at Hogwarts changed this class so that it equally covers both branches of magic, so that our students are more aware once they enter the real world.”

And I’m sure Voldemort wanting the next generation brainwashed to use Dark magic has nothing to do with it.

Hadrian had nothing against using Dark magic, but he did hold a healthy dose of caution regarding it. Even if he had showed an aptitude for using it, he knew that there was always a chance he could lose himself if he was not careful.

The idea that Voldemort was slowly spreading acceptance of Dark magic into the younger generations was both good and bad. Good, in the sense that it would put an end to the stupid biases people held; but bad because Hadrian knew less than half of them would be able to resist the temptation.

A hand shot into the air, and Riddle nodded at the Durmstrang student. “Does zis mean ve vill pe uzing Dark magic in class?” His accent was incredible thick that Hadrian had to take a moment to decipher what he had asked.

“If the lesson calls for it, yes.” Riddle smiled at them, and it seemed to take years off of his face. Hadrian saw that the man would have been absolutely stunning in his youth.

“I understand most of you may have mixed feelings about using Dark magic, and I promise that we will never force you to use a spell you are uncomfortable with. If you ever feeling this way, please come and see me and I will happily assist you.”

Oh, you are good. Hadrian thought. He had no doubt that Riddle would be capable of convincing any wavering students to use Dark magic if they came to him by themselves. In front of a class the man was limited to what he could do. If a student approached him alone, they were much easier to manipulate.

It was an underhanded move, but Hadrian could hardly raise a complaint in its application. He himself, had used this tactic in the past when he needed to get something from one of his classmates.

He wondered if he would have bought what Riddle was saying if he had not seen the other side of the man already. He liked to think he was smart enough to have not been caught in this act.

“Now,” Riddle turned back to his desk, waving his wand at it so it slid itself back a few more feet, opening up the platform more. “I would like to start the class with a small mock duel, if you will. Perhaps between Hogwarts and…Beauxbatons?”

Hadrian almost groaned.

“Goyle.” Riddle said, voice sharpening slightly. The hulking boy sitting next to Draco started at the call, “Since you displayed such aptitude when dealing with those second years yesterday, why not demonstrate your skills for us now?” And if that was not the most derisive tone Hadrian had ever heard. He almost laughed as the boy obediently stood and slowly clambered his way onto the platform, looking terrified.

“And a volunteer from Beauxbatons? Someone competent enough to match Mr. Goyle?”

Like moths drawn to a flame, his classmates turned to look at him, various expressions of malicious glee aimed at him. Clearly everyone had already figured this was punishment for the Hogwarts boy, and had no mercy if they wanted Hadrian to get up there.

Raina smirked at him and nudged his foot with her own, urging him to stand.

With a sigh, he did so and found the attention of the entire class wrapping around him. He saw Hermione’s surprised look as he silently made his way to the front.

He joined Riddle and Goyle on the stage, avoiding the former by staring at the latter. His classmates had broken into excited murmurs and he could hear them debating how he would go about this.

Would he let the match drag out? Would he even try? Which spells would he use?

His mouth twitched downwards in annoyance, even as he felt the same lick of energy he always did before a match.

“We will keep this nice and clean, Mr. Goyle, Mr…?”

Realising the professor was asking for his name, Hadrian glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. He did not like the way those blue eyes were fixed on him, it made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Evans,” he supplied quietly, returning his gaze to Goyle and quickly scanning the boy.

They were not even in proper stances yet, and Hadrian could already tell Goyle would have an abysmal form. The sheer size of the boy, the way his shoulders were curled and the wide spread of his feet would all throw his balance off.

He drew his wand, deciding then and there that he would get this over with as soon as it started. He had no desire to be up here, closer to this man, any longer than he had to. Hadrian would finish this farce of a match the moment Riddle called them to begin.

Riddle raised one hand, and the students settled. He set up a basic shield between the rest of the class and the platform, not that Hadrian intended to let this go long enough for it to be any use.

“Bow to each other.” Riddle commanded, and though something in Hadrian wanted to snap at the man, he rocked forward a little, barely dipping his head. He did not respect this boy enough to bend any lower.

There were more titters from the students as Goyle copied his almost non-existent movement. Regardless, Riddle had deemed their bows acceptable.

Hadrian made no move to join Goyle and get into a stance, opting to merely stand casually with his wand held aloof at his side. He could just make out some of the snide comments his classmates were making, and almost felt bad for the other boy getting paired against him.

Then again, he thought tiredly, he should not have been picking on younger students.

He once again swept his eyes over the other boy, cataloguing every fault and weakness he could find. His mind buzzed with how to best go about this.

He could just disarm the other, save him the humiliation of being so soundlessly beaten. Or he could hit him with a gentle spell, simply knock him out and end it that way. While most of his fighting arsenal was filled with spells and curses used to inflict significant damage, he did have a few that did not cause injuries.

It was hardly his fault he liked the powerful, dangerous spells. His magic was quite well developed for someone his age, and it responded better when he was doing something that required a substantial level of energy.

He would have to be careful that he did not pack too much power into whatever he cast at Goyle, not wanting to permanently hurt him.

Even if his father was a Death Eater.

“Begin.”

Hadrian’s wand scarcely twitched, and Goyle was sailing through the air, colliding with the wall with a smack. Another twitch and the other’s wand was securely clasped in Hadrian’s hand, before it’s owner had even hit the ground.

There was silence.

Hadrian slipped his wand away and glanced at the other students. Most were still blinking in shock at how fast it was over, though the Beauxbatons students were starting to clap and grin. They were more than used to his fast victories.

Hadrian started over to Goyle, passing Riddle on his way and feeling the weight of the man’s gaze on his back. He ignored it, and hopped off the platform to help the boy up. Goyle shook his head with a frown to clear it.

“Sorry about that,” Hadrian said, holding out the boy’s wand. “I did not mean for you to hit the wall so hard.”

“S’all right.” Goyle rumbled as he reclaimed his wand. He did not seem particularly bothered by the fact that Hadrian had beaten him.

“That was very…impressive Mr. Evans.” They both turned to see Riddle on the platform, looking down at the both of them. There was something in his expression that had Hadrian straightening and narrowing his eyes. He did not like the assessing gleam in the man’s eyes.

“Thank you, Professor.” He spoke eventually when he realised not responding to the praise would be seen as rude.

“Have you much experiencing duelling?”

He debated how to reply. “Only in the traditional sense, sir.” He paused, before giving a little more in the hopes the man would stop talking to him. “We have a duelling class at Beauxbatons.”

“I imagine your professors are very pleased with you, then. I did not hear the spell you used on Mr. Goyle.”

Hadrian shrugged as calmly as he could even as his senses prickled with warnings. “I suppose they are, sir. And it was a lesser version of everte statum. I did not want to break his neck by accident.”

He shifted, “May we be seated, Professor?” He asked to cut off any more questions.

Riddle stared at him for another moment. “Yes, of course. Thank you Mr. Evans.”

Grateful, Hadrian made a beeline for his desk and sat down. Claire grinned at him and leaned across Raina to whisper, “That was very good Hadrian, I doubt the Durmstrang students will bother you much after that. Who cares if it was a second year spell; it was nonverbal, and so quickly done.”

He quirked a small smile at her, glad at least one of them saw something beneficial about it. All Hadrian saw was the interest he had provoked in Riddle.

“Now,” once again, one word from Riddle and the class settled. “let us begin our lesson. Today we will be looking as several different species of dragons.”

OoO

Raina watched silently as Hadrian answered yet another question, his voice flat and expression carefully blank.

Despite that, she could see the traces of tension in him. The way his lips pressed a little harder together when he was quiet, the smallest of crinkles between his brows, the way he held himself completely still.

All of this alerted her to the fact that he was uncomfortable.

When he was relaxed – or as relaxed as Hadrian could be – he was almost always fidgeting, whether it was his fingers tracing unseen patterns, or his head tilting to the side, or feet twitching.

He was a ball of the tiniest, unconscious movements.

It was only when he was uncomfortable, or nervous, or deeply in thought that he became this still and unmoving figure.

She also knew exactly what was bothering him.

Since he had won the mock duel, Professor Riddle had been strangely locked onto Hadrian. Constantly asking questions to provoke him into speaking, or asking his opinion on a matter.

Of course, other students were included in the discussions and many were asked a variety of questions. But it was Hadrian that held a majority of the professor’s attention.

Raina understood perfectly why the man might find Hadrian an interesting student, everyone who came into contact with him was in some way charmed; whether it was his looks, his power, or his mind, there was something in him for everyone to enjoy.

Though for some reason, whenever Professor Riddle’s eyes zeroed in on the boy beside her, she felt the overwhelming urge to hide him from view. There was just something…unsettling about it.

She could not do that, of course, as it was a ridiculous notion. She could, however, answer as many of the questions correctly as possible. It was a small thing, but it worked on drawing the professor’s gaze away from Hadrian.

Raina knew she and Hadrian were not as close as he and Claire, but she considered him a good friend – frustrating, stubborn bastard that he was; but a friend nonetheless. And Raina was nothing if not loyal to her friends.

So she kept raising her hand, she continued to answer, and she watched Hadrian carefully for any changes. Of course she did not always manage to stop the professor from singling out Hadrian, but she tried her hardest.

It was only when Professor Riddle turned to write something on the blackboard that she felt Hadrian’s should bump against hers. Raina glanced at him to be met with a soft, sweet little smile from the boy.

Thank you. She read in it.

It left her feeling a little breathless.

Why couldn’t you be ugly? She thought miserably as she nodded back. She hated how one smile from Hadrian – a real smile, though she could admit that nearly anything Hadrian did with his mouth was attractive – could mess with her so badly.

“What is the weakest point in a dragon’s armour, Mr. Evans?”

Hadrian looked away from her resignedly. “It depends on the species, but it is typically the soft underbelly on their upper chest, just underneath their forearms. The armour there is about half an inch thinner than the rest of the chest.”

Riddle nodded. “And why is it that?”

Hadrian blinked, “It is where the wings generally sit, it’s thinner to allow for the joint to be able to move without too much restriction. If you can damage the joint, then you severely limit it’s movements.”

“Correct. Are there any other noticeable weakness of a dragon?”

Hadrian shrugged, “I suppose their eyes, sir. Or the inside of their mouths.”

Riddle simply nodded, turning back to the board.

The second Riddle’s back was facing them Hadrian slumped, just a little, in his place.

And so the lesson continued, with more questions being shot at her friend; until finally they were allowed to leave. Raina was not oblivious to the way Hadrian speedily packed away his things, or the fact that he was not waiting for them as he normally did.

“Mr. Evans, stay behind please.”

Hadrian froze.

Raina’s packing slowed considerably, before stopping altogether. Her eyes darted between Professor Riddle and Hadrian as the room steadily emptied of students until only they remained.

Claire, similarly, had halted.

Professor Riddle was seated at his desk and was watching the three of them over the rim of his glasses. No, that was not entirely correct, Raina realised, Professor Riddle was only watching Hadrian.

Raina glanced at Hadrian to see what he thought. One look at his face told her that the last thing he wanted was to stay here, alone.

“You had better head out,” he spoke quietly to them. “I will catch up with you later.”

“Are you sure?” Claire whispered, and Raina was glad she was not the only one to notice the uneasy interactions between their friend and the professor.

Hadrian grinned at them, doing a remarkably good job of hiding his emotions. “I will be fine. Now go.”

Claire hesitated, but moved regardless. Raina leaned close to Hadrian, “We will meet you for lunch in the hall.” He rolled his eyes at her and gently nudged her to the door, before he started towards the professor’s desk.

Raina stayed a moment longer, then made her way outside. She could just hear Hadrian’s soft voice talking to the professor before the door closed behind her.

Claire said nothing as they slowly began to make their way towards the Great Hall.

“I wonder what the professor wishes to talk to him about?” Raina muttered.

Claire looked at her closely, “I doubt it is anything serious, Raina.”

“I did not like how fixated he was on Hadrian.” The dark haired girl said strongly, her eyes finding her friend’s and daring her to disagree.

“I will admit…it was a bit odd. But Hadrian has always been a point of interest for our professors back home. I’ve no doubt Professor Riddle merely wants to know about Hadrian’s skill in his subject. He practically blasted the other boy earlier.”

“Who blasted who?”

The two girls spun to see Jacob had slid up behind them while they spoke. Claire smiled warmly at the handsome boy, eyes fixed pointedly away from his neck. She had appreciated Hadrian having a glamour on throughout the morning, but seeing those marks on Jacob would likely ruin her day completely.

“Hadrian, in a mock duel.” Raina huffed. “Now the professor asked him to stay behind.”

Jacob hummed, “Defence, I’m assuming?” When both girls nodded, and grinned. “Alright then, I’ll go back and find him; give him an excuse to get away. We will meet you for lunch.”

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but Jacob was already moving away with a spring in his step.

OoO

Hadrian stopped just in front of the first row of desks. “Professor?’ he prompted, eager to get this out of the way and escape the man. Riddle took a moment to shuffle some loose parchment on his desk before piercing him with a look the moment the door clicked shut.

He had no idea what Riddle could possibly want with him now. He had done nothing but answer the man’s questions correctly, and he was positive he had not slipped and given anything away about the other night.

The silence between them grew, Riddle’s eyes not once wavering from Hadrian’s. He refused to be the first to break, even if it was beyond intimidating. He found himself wondering if Riddle was a Death Eater. The man was certainly menacing enough.

Just as it became unbearable, the older man spoke.

“You have a remarkable mind, Mr. Evans. I was very impressed with some of your answers.”

Surprised by the compliment, but careful not to show it, Hadrian simply dipped his head. “Thank you, sir.” Riddle steepled his fingers and leaned forward on his elbows.

“I confess myself curious. Are you this well-studied in your other subjects?”

Tell the truth, or lie?

“I am at the top of most of my subjects, Professor.”

“Only most?” There was a small twitch to his lips that may have been the beginnings of a smile, Hadrian did not understand why the man was so interested in him.

“Medical Studies gives me a little difficulty. My friend, Claire, is the best in our grade for the subject. She is a natural.”

Should he feel bad for throwing Claire into Riddle’s notice? Probably a little, but right now he was more concerned with getting himself out. Besides, Claire deserved more credit than she got.

“And which other subjects do you take, Mr. Evans?” Riddle breezed past his mention of Claire effortlessly.

Hadrian’s tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip. “I take Potions, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. I also have Duelling and Physical as my electives.”

“Quite a full plate, indeed. And you are at the top of all of them?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you choose those subjects?”

Why do you care? “They interest me.” Was his clipped response.

“And what of extracurricular activities?”

“Extracurricular?” Hadrian echoed with faux-confusion.

Riddle merely gave him an amused look, as if he knew perfectly well that he understood the question.

“…I am a seeker on one of our Quidditch teams.” Hadrian reluctantly answered the man, hating how he conceded.

Riddle hummed, pleased. “Are you any good?”

“I’m good enough.” He officially wanted to leave now. This was supremely uncomfortable and he did not like how fixated this man was on him.

Riddle continued to study him closely, eyes intense and seemingly oblivious to his discomfort.

“And what of your personal life, Mr. Evans?”

He could not stop himself from tensing in time, and Riddle’s eyes gained a satisfied glint. “What about it?” he bit out, rapidly growing agitated.

“I am merely curious my boy. You are a muggleborn, and yet so skilled.”

What’s that supposed to mean? How does he know I am a muggleborn? Did he just assume?

“Thank you, sir.” He said, trying to hold back his annoyance. “But being a muggleborn does not mean one is incompetent. In fact, I find those with muggle blood are often more powerful than those without.”

“You believe so?” There was something…probing about his tone. Hadrian vaguely felt like he was about to answer a test question.

“I know so. It is a simply matter of genetics, sir. Fresh blood can essentially wash away any problems that have manifested over generations.” He narrowed his eyes and studied the man shrewdly. “Though I would have thought you would know this, sir. Seeing as how Britain has slowly been integrating muggleborn children into pureblood families.”

Something much like amusement crept onto the professor’s aged face. “Right you are, Mr. Evans. Impressive that you have already managed to discover that.”

“It was not hard.” He answered swiftly, “All I had to do was talk to someone.”

“And know the right questions to ask. Which suggests an interest in the topic itself.”

“Well I am a muggleborn,” he quipped drily, unable to help himself. “you cannot fault me for wanting to know how others of my status are treated under the rule of a man widely known for being a blood-purist.”

Riddle’s eyes hooded, “Careful child, that was almost snide.”

Hadrian internally agreed, briefly biting his tongue so the small burst of pain focussed him again. At least that solved the issue of which side Riddle was on. If the man was so readily defending Voldemort, he was not someone Hadrian could afford to slip up around. Again.

“Sorry, sir.”

Riddle waved his apology away, and despite his reprimand he seemed more amused at Hadrian’s cheek than angered. “So you have no other siblings?”

Why is he so damn interested in my family?

“I am an only child.”

“Your parents must be very proud of you then.” Again, there was that searching tone.

“My mother has never told me otherwise.” To my face, that is. She has other ways of letting me know when I have disappointed her.

“And your father?”

Murdered. “He passed away when I was five.”

“My condolences; I imagine your bond with your mother would be quite strong as a result?”

What does that even mean?

Hadrian frowned a little, perplexed. “I love her.” He stated with all the conviction of a son.

Riddle’s lips twisted into something Hadrian could not decipher. “I’m sure,” he murmured softly. “And your accent?”

He was thrown for a loop. Try as he might, he could not understand the point of all these questions. It made no proper sense, why Riddle would be this curious about him. Yes, he had easily defeated Goyle, and yes, he had displayed his intelligence in answering all of Riddle’s questions; but that did not justify this level of interrogation.

“My…accent, sir?”

“Yes, it is such a curious blend. You are clearly French, and yet there is barely a trace of it in your voice.”

“I was raised around someone from Britain, and picked up the accent from them. I have never really been able to lose it.”

“How intriguing.” Riddle tapped his pointed finger against the surface of his desk, the movement and noise being far more intimidating than they should have been.

“Tell me more about your mother?”

Hadrian’s hand tightened around his bag-strap until the leather was almost creaking. “With all due respect, sir, how is this any of your business? Your first lot of questions I can understand, with you being a teacher; but why would you possibly care about my mother?”

The smile Riddle gave him was kind and humouring, and Hadrian hated it. He just wished the man would stop trying to pretend to be something he was not; especially since Hadrian could see the real Riddle lurking in the man’s eyes.

“What can I say, Mr. Evans; you remind me a little of myself.”

That’s not reassuring in the least. Something in his expression must have given that thought away, because Riddle’s sweet smile turned sly, his blue eyes sparking with dangerous humour.

Hadrian took a moment to ponder the situation, rolling the options over in his head. It was not like he was telling Riddle who he truly was, and the entire backstory he and his mother had created was purely for situations like this.

He had nothing much to lose by parting with his manufactured life-story.

“My mother and I come from a long line of squibs,” he began, lips tightening when he caught Riddle’s eyes sharpening. The man was not even trying to hide his smugness at winning.

Joke’s on you old man. He thought bitingly.

“My mother only has a limited use of her magic, which she uses to make potions. That is how we make money. When I was old enough, I assisted her.” He shifted his weight and tilted his head. He decided to wait for Riddle to ask questions, rather than freely offer information.

Make him work for it.

“Interesting. She sounds like a very resilient woman. And your father, what was he like?”

“I hardly remember my father, I’m afraid.” Not a lie.

“Though if my mother loved him, I’ve no doubt he was an extraordinary man.” Also not a lie.

“Indeed.”

There was another pause. Hadrian slackened his tight grip on his bag strap and made sure to hold himself loosely, adopting the posture of a bored teenager rather than the tense one of before.

For the most part, Riddle seemed content to just stare at him.

While Hadrian was used to the attention of others – hell, sometimes he revelled in it – the way the professor’s eyes drilled into him only made his skin prickle in warning.

“You are quite remarkable for your age, Mr. Evans.” The honesty in that compliment did not catch him off guard this time. “You have shown an incredible intelligence, as well as a formidable amount of magical talent. I am truly impressed.”

“Thank you, sir.” He intoned.

“Though there is one matter I find myself puzzled over.”

Hadrian’s jaw clenched in worry. He did not like the change in Riddle’s tone at all.

“Sir?”

As swift as lightning, the gentle guise that had been hovering over Riddle’s face since he set foot in the classroom crumbled.

The change that overcame the man’s features was daunting, and the way his blue eyes turned to steel made ice form in Hadrian’s veins.

In an instant, the air was stuffed with the crushing presence of raw magic – all encompassing, it wrapped around him and squeezed. The temperature chilled dramatically, making Hadrian grateful his blazer was on.

The familiar sensation had his mind flashing back to the other night, where he had desperately fought off this foreign magic as it attempted to tear through his concealment spells.

“What bothers me,” Riddle murmured, voice like silk. The man pushed himself up from his seat and rounded the desk until they stood directly in front of one another. Riddle made no move to touch him, but the way the man seemed to loom over him left Hadrian feeling trapped in a completely different way. “is what you were doing two nights ago, alone and skulking through the hallways like a thief.”

Hadrian swallowed, and the professor’s eyes dropped to catch the movement. For a hysterical moment, Hadrian wondered if the man had registered the faint glamour he had put on his neck to cover Jacob’s marks.

But just as quickly as panic flooded him, an icy wave of calm settled over him.

He licked his lips.

“Well Professor, that is an interesting question.”

Chapter Text

Hadrian’s eyes drifted to the side as he contemplated how to go about this. Clearly Riddle knew it was him that night, and from the look on the man’s face, he doubted the professor would allow him to wriggle his way out of this.

It was annoying that he had been found out – but it was not necessarily the end of the world. He could still work with this.

Riddle was scarily intelligent, and he was dangerous because, unknowingly or not, he held Hadrian’s life in his hands right now.

If he could not convince the man to let go of this…if he went to the authorities with a claim that he had found Hadrian alone with the goblet, then no amount of skill or manipulations would stop his true name from being revealed.

An auror investigation into his life would uncover some discrepancies in their story and everything would unravel.

The world would discover that the Potter heir was still alive, and masquerading as a Beauxbatons student.

Gods, Voldemort would find out. And while Hadrian was granted some measure of protection in Britain due to be an international guest, he doubted something as flimsy as the law would stop the Dark Lord from killing him.

That could not be allowed to happen.

Which meant, Hadrian mused as he returned his gaze to the man in front of him, that as of two minutes ago, Riddle had become the biggest threat to his life.

Excitement sparked through his veins at the thought. Hadrian swallowed and clenched his right hand around his bag strap to stop the emotion from showing on his face.

It would not work, trying to talk his way out of this without revealing some facts. He would have to be very careful with what he said around this man. Because something told him that even the slightest hint of weakness would only entice the professor to look closer.

“Well, Mr. Evans? I’m waiting to be regaled by your tale of tampering with the goblet.”

Hadrian’s eyes sharpened, his posture straightened and he met the man’s gaze steadily. He ensured his occlumency shields were firmly in place just in case Riddle knew how to read his mind.

Or course, he had more than shields protecting his thoughts from prying fingers, but no defence was infallible. And he had no idea how many languages Riddle himself knew…

There was no way around it. He would have to let out some of his secrets, but if it helped him get out of this situation then Hadrian knew it was a necessary risk.

Besides, he had an advantage.

Riddle was fascinated by him. It was obvious from the way the man had been so intently focussed on him ever since Hadrian had stepped onto the duelling platform.

Even now, the way the man had chosen to confront him rather than take his knowledge to the authorities betrayed his interest.

The man was unconsciously giving him a chance to explain himself because he was intrigued and he wanted to know more.

He could use that fascination against Riddle to win this little round.

“You are right, Professor. I was in the Great Hall that night.” There, he had admitted it, incriminating himself. Riddle’s gaze was heavy, expectant. “But I was not trying to influence the goblet, as you think.”

“Then what, pray tell, were you doing?”

Hadrian gave a little grin, boyish and impenitent. “Satisfying my curiosity. Surely an academic man such as yourself could understand that at least, sir?”

Riddle made a little noise in the back of his throat, prompting Hadrian to explain further. Hadrian was suddenly very glad he had spent so many hours perusing through the Beauxbatons’ library, looking up any topic that caught his fancy.

That knowledge was about to come in handy.

And Raina scorns me for being too studious. He thought amusedly.

“Last year, I was in the school library and I was reading about a rather odd bit of magic.” For some reason, what he had said caused something unfathomable to spark in Riddle’s eyes. The look was so unexpected that Hadrian almost fumbled. “It was about the sentience of magical objects.”

And just like that, the strange expression flittered away, leaving Riddle only looking partially interested.

“And you wished to apply your knowledge to the goblet.” Riddle summarised swiftly. Hadrian bobbed his head once in acknowledgement.

“I had read that there is no one standard to which a magical object can be held. Each and every one of them have their own properties, and each and every one of them holds a different level of sentience.”

The professor hummed thoughtfully, and Hadrian could see that for all the man’s terrifying magic, he was also a scholar. “And what made you think testing the goblet was a smart idea?”

Hadrian shrugged. “I listened to the Headmaster’s speech, and it piqued my interest. ‘Throw your name in the goblet and it will pick the most worthy’,” he scoffed, “forgive me if I do not find that explanation thorough enough for my liking.”

“I enjoy learning new things, sir. And to my knowledge, no one really understood how the goblet worked. So I took it upon myself to sate my desire and find out. I snuck back inside after curfew and tossed a blank piece of parchment into the fire. I wanted to see if the goblet could differentiate between a proper nomination and a fake. I wanted to see how aware it was, and if it would react negatively.”

“And your findings?”

Hadrian took a breath. “The goblet did not seem to react, so I concluded that as long as the person is of age it does not particular care. But it will only register a paper with a name.”

Riddle’s fingers tapped unconsciously on the desk as the man thought. Hadrian waited with baited breath, praying the man left it at that. “And you decided to hide yourself because –”

“Because if I was caught,” he cut the man off, not even thinking. “I would be accused of trying to fix the goblet and the last thing our countries need is an international incident ruining relationships further. It was easier to just protect myself.”

He crossed his arms, meeting the professor’s gaze evenly. The man stared him down, but Hadrian knew Riddle was merely assessing him with interest.

“How did you even know it was me?” He asked, curiously. “You did not see me that night, and I know I did not slip up during the lesson.”

Riddle looked absolutely delighted that he had asked.

“I knew it was you the moment I felt you blast poor Mr. Goyle across the classroom.” Riddle explained, taking a great amount of joy in educating him. “Every witch and wizard has their own unique magical signature, much like fingerprints. It is one of the methods aurors use to track down criminals. A person cannot alter their magical core except through very dangerous means; rituals and curses far above the talent of a student, no matter how skilled.”

Hadrian nodded, he had read a few texts about the certain rituals Riddle mentioned. They were as equally fascinating as they were gruesome.

“You recognised my magical signature because I used it that night to fight off your finite incantatem. So when I cast that spell you could tell they were one and the same.”

The professor leaned comfortably against the desk behind him, looking quite pleased at the route their conversation had taken.

Hadrian wanted to smack that smug expression right off the older wizard’s face; only refraining because while Riddle seemed to enjoy their verbal sparring, attacking the man physically would likely provoke a dangerous reaction.

He had no idea just how strong Riddle could be, but the taste he had gotten of the man’s magic that night, as well as right now, warned him that antagonising the professor would be foolish.

Hadrian might be many things, but a fool was not one of them.

So instead, he took a deep, steading breath to quell the urge. “You did not report me to the others. Why?” he demanded. Riddle rubbed his chin with his long fingers and smirked at him.

“I wanted to…satisfy my curiosity.” The man purred, throwing his earlier words back at him. “It is not often that I find someone who is capable of not only matching my magical levels, but successfully fending me off.”

“But I did not fend you off, not completely.” He protested, though he could understand Riddle’s point. It had been both thoroughly terrifying and exhilarating to battle against a force stronger than him.

Being so far above his peers in terms of magical strength could get so boring after years without challenge.

His encounter with Riddle was the closest Hadrian had ever felt to losing, and it had left him breathless and giddy when he had escaped.

Maybe there was something wrong with him, if he was actually excited at the thought of being beaten.

“I failed in removing your disillusionment charm – which means you succeeded more than I did.” Much like Hadrian, Riddle seemed downright pleased at having someone who had challenged him and won – at least partially.

Maybe they were a bit alike after all.

There was a moment of almost companionable silence between them. But then Riddle’s eyes were filled with cruel amusement.

“So tell me Mr. Evans, were you truly curious as to the goblet’s mechanisms, or were you more interested in finding a way around nominating yourself in the tournament?”

And just like that, Hadrian’s entire body was pulled taunt again; leaving him dully wondering when he had even relaxed in the first place.

Riddle merely watched him with a genuinely interested expression, though his mouth was tilted in a strange half-smile.

I should have known he would figure that out.

Hadrian licked his bottom lip in contemplation, too busy thinking to notice the way the man’s eyes darted down to catch the motion. “Why would you assume I want to avoid the tournament?” He asked instead, to give himself more time.

“It’s simple really,” Riddle said after a moment. “you are clearly an intelligent young man, not one to be tempted by the glory and fame promised to the winner. And everyone knows the dangers that are in store for champions are almost insurmountable in difficulty. It is only natural for someone such as yourself to do all they could to avoid such peril.”

Hadrian bristled at the insinuation that he was a coward. It struck far too closely to his own doubts about not being champion – of letting one of his classmates put their life on the line.

He did not appreciate this man spotting that and tossing the point in his face.

The professor obviously caught his minor reaction, for he smiled pacifyingly. “I meant no insult, Mr. Evans. Self-preservation is an important trait to have, one that you find many people often disregard or view as cowardice. I merely see it, as living to fight another day.”

“I just do not see the value in risking my life for an abstract goal. ‘Fame’ and ‘glory’ are nice and all,” he said snidely. “but I prefer to know exactly what I am getting into before I jump into the deep end. Running headfirst into danger is a stupid thing to do.”

Riddle’s lips twitched, amused at his tone and words.

“That is a very Slytherin outlook,” the man said favourably. “So you do not approve of the tournament’s reinstatement, Mr. Evans?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The boy said sourly and looked to the side, a little bitter at being compared to a Slytherin. He had nothing against the House itself. It was merely that his parents had been in Gryffindor, and Hadrian liked to think he embodied some of those qualities more.

“May I inquire as to why?”

Hadrian studied the man from the corner of his eye, considering. “I find the whole thing unnecessary, Professor.” He admitted. Riddle might be a Dark Lord sympathiser, but for some reason Hadrian felt as if the man would not reveal their conversation to anyone. It was a horribly naïve thought, but Hadrian’s instincts had never steered him wrong before.

There was just something about the man that had him lowering his guard – and that was incredibly dangerous.

His mind whirred back over their conversation, and felt angry at himself for being so open with Riddle, so quick to answer his questions. He got so drawn into their conversation that he barely paused to consider what he was truly saying.

At least he had not given away anything too important. And he had never really hidden his opinion of the tournament. Most of his classmates had likely picked up on his disapproval by this point.

And Riddle himself did not seem to particularly care about the event either. It was in his tone when he spoke of the tournament, as if the entire thing was a tedious affair.

“Completely excluding the risk factor to the champions, there are many things I do not agree with.”

“Oh?”

Hadrian hesitated for only a moment, before deciding to go with his gut.

“I am smart enough to see a political dominance display when it is occurring right in front of me, Professor.” He said dryly, prompting a small smile from the man.

“As well as see the reasons for Lord Voldemort reinstalling it.” He added slyly, watching closely for Riddle’s reaction. If Hadrian got even a hint of reproof he would drop this topic.

Riddle did make a strange, soft hissing noise when he spoke the Dark Lord’s name, but he showed no signs of anger or moved to reprimand him, so Hadrian continued cautiously.

“Other than ‘improving relationships’ and ‘building new alliances’,” here he scoffed lightly as he recalled Malfoy’s show in Éric’s office. “this is a chance for the Dark Lord to show the world that his hold over this country is absolute. He is making a statement to everyone that Britain is his.”

“You believe so?”

Hadrian gave the professor a look that bordered on mocking. “You do not invite your political opponents to your door unless you are sure you have everything under control. Lord Voldemort is not an idiot. If he had any doubts about his rule this tournament would not be on, and I would be back home.”

His words seemed to please Riddle, he noted with interest.

“And is that your only theory, Mr. Evans?”

Hadrian shrugged, now confident that as long as he spoke about Voldemort in a respectful manner, Riddle would likely not mind what he said. “One of them. He could also be looking to recruit talented international students.”

“And do you not fall into the category?” the professor asked, amused and something else.

“Oh, the Dark Lord would not want me.” Hadrian hummed out, teasingly. The expression on the man’s face was once again something he could not decipher – disbelief, possibly? Hadrian smiled as innocently as he could. “I am strictly a Light wizard, I am afraid. What use could I be to a man who worships the opposite spectrum of magic?”

That was a blatant lie. Hadrian could cast Dark magic as easily as breathing.

Either Riddle knew he was lying, or he speculated it, because the man pinned him with a dubious look. Whatever the professor’s thoughts, he moved on swiftly.

“So you do not intend to put your name forth.” He stated, sounding almost disappointed. Hadrian supposed a lot of people would be, when he did not get named champion.

Before he could reply, there was a knock at the door. Hadrian glanced over his shoulder to see Jacob waltz inside without a care in the world. He noted dully that the other boy had yet to cover his hickey-marked neck and prayed that Claire had not seen him.

Who am I kidding? He would have to have seen Claire and Raina to find out where I was. If she’s upset because he has no tact…

“Jacob,” he greeted politely as his friend stopped beside him. The other boy smiled at him and curled a hand around his hip. Hadrian blinked at the frankly uncharacteristic touch. He and Jacob might have sex, and they enjoyed playing with each other – but they were not overly affectionate people.

He glanced down at the hand in puzzlement, wondering what his friend thought he was doing. Especially with a teacher right in front of them.

“Hadrian,” he replied, voice deepening deliciously. “Professor,” he nodded briefly at the man. “forgive me for the interruption but our esteemed Headmistress has requested Hadrian’s presence. Something about a cactus?” The last part was directed at the smaller boy, Jacob’s voice was tinged with laughter.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes at the jab.

It seemed Raina was not the only one spreading the story around.

“Very well then.” He turned his attention back to Riddle, hesitant. “Thank you for the talk Professor, I am…sure everything we discussed will remain between us?” It was presumptuous of him to demand, but Riddle nodded cordially.

The man’s eyes swung from the hand he had yet to dislodge from his hip, to Jacob, lingering on the fading marks around his neck. For some inexplicable reason, Hadrian felt the urge to blush. “Of course Mr. Evans, though we will, naturally, have to continue this another time.”

Hadrian nodded, relieved that Riddle was willing to let him go, even if only because the man would find a way to talk with him again; and started outside. Jacob followed behind him, hand possessively pressing on his lower back.

The moment the door closed Hadrian slapped Jacob’s hand away and raised an eyebrow. Jacob sighed explosively, “I cannot believe you got left alone with him,” he said, tugging the smaller boy with him as he led them away from the defence classroom. “doesn’t he give you the creeps?”

Hadrian felt himself smile, despite being frustrated with his friend. “He was not that bad towards the end. Once I got used to him I thought he was rather interesting. He reminds me a little of myself.”

“He looked like he wanted to eat you,” Jacob complained with an over-the-top shudder. “he is old enough to be your grandfather.”

“He did not,” Hadrian snapped with fond exasperation, “he is an intellectual man and we were having an interesting conversation. Now, why did Madame Maxime wish to see me?”

“Hmm?” Jacob asked, the beginnings of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, that?” He waved his hand airily, “I made that up so I had an excuse to come and rescue you from that cradle-robber. As if I would abandon you to deal with someone like that by yourself.”

Hadrian closed his eyes and groaned, “Remind we why we are friends again?”

“Because I am an extraordinary human being and I brighten your day just with my presence.” Was the whip-like reply. Hadrian huffed a laugh.

“Ah, that sounds about right. Come on, I could use some food after that.” He jerked his head in the direction they had come from.

“What were you talking about anyway?” Jacob inquired, though there was a shiftiness to him. Hadrian immediately stopped walking, forcing his friend to as well.

“Jacob,” he drew the name out, watching as his friend twitched. “how much did you overhear?” His voice was surprisingly calm, and it must have been the lack of obvious anger that convinced his friend to answer immediately, rather than try and divert the question and risk him reacting badly.

“Most of it,” he admitted without remorse. “Enough of it to understand what is going on.” Hadrian closed his eyes tiredly.

“It’s not what you think.” He protested half-heartedly, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. He could practically envision the argument forming between them.

“What I think is that you – after explicitly telling me not to worry – snuck into Hogwarts at night, and used the opportunity to see if you could find a way around nominating yourself in the tournament; only to get caught by the Defence teacher!”

“Shut. Up.” Hadrian hissed, green eyes moving up and down the hallway frantically. His hand snapped up to grab a fistful of Jacob’s lapel, and wordlessly he pulled the other into a deserted classroom.

Jacob stumbled when Hadrian ruthlessly shoved him away and closed the door, quickly setting up a privacy ward without bothering to draw his wand. The dark haired boy whirled on his friend. “Alright, hurry up and say your piece so I can counter and distract you.”

Jacob flushed indignantly. “I’m not some idiot you can lead around by the nose Hadrian! Is that what you really think of me?”

Hadrian rolled his eyes, “Please Jacob, you are my best friend. Do not insult either of us by questioning that.”

“I know we’re friends, but you thinking that I am somehow easy to fool does not make me feel all warm and cuddly inside.”

Hadrian’s eyes softened marginally, but it changed his whole demeanour. “Jacob,” he murmured, “you know how highly I think of you. You know how much I care about you. I learnt most of my tricks from watching you and your father. Please, do not assume that I am so heartless that I would belittle you in anyway.”

Jacob tugged a hand through his hair roughly. “I just want to know why you are so against being champion – why you would go so far as to falsely nominate yourself.”

Hadrian sighed, “You know I would tell you if I could, but at this point in time it would not be wise.” The smaller boy took a few steps towards him, looking up at him imploringly with his beautiful green eyes.

“Please, Jacob?” he said softly. “Just trust me with this.”

Gods dammit. Jacob could feel himself deflating in the face of Hadrian’s sad, pleading expression.

The dark haired boy stepped closer and hugged him tightly when he caught the signs of defeat in Jacob’s posture. Slowly, he returned the gesture, thinking again at how disappointed his father would be if he ever saw this. Him, bowing again and again every time Hadrian asked something of him.

He was the heir to a powerful and influential family; yet he was too weak to stand up to the people he cared about.

“Come on,” Hadrian coaxed as they separated after a minute. He grinned up at Jacob, “let’s go get lunch. I am famished.”

Jacob smiled back, and together they headed for the Great Hall.

It was only much later, during their meal when Raina asked what Professor Riddle wanted, that Jacob realised not only had he failed to find out why Hadrian was so keen to avoid the tournament; he had purposefully let the other boy take control of the conversation and twist it around on him.

“Hurry up and say your piece so I can counter and distract you.”

His hand tightened around his cutlery as he watched Hadrian and Raina dissolve into their usual bickering.

He deflected me. Again.

Jacob felt anger spark in him at the thought that once again, Hadrian had so easily made him fold.

He just did not understand. It felt like he was dealing with an entirely different person sometimes. Hadrian had always been mercurial with his moods, and difficult to predict, but whatever was going on with him was something Jacob had never seen before.

There was something wrong. Ever since he told Hadrian of the tournament’s revival he had been agitated – not noticeably, Jacob doubted Hadrian even knew how different he was acting – and evasive.

He just wished his friend trusted him enough to outright tell him what was bothering him, not leave him scrambling to put the pieces together.

Jacob knew Hadrian did not necessarily like the Dark Lord, and the way he had reacted to Lucius Malfoy suggested a resentment for the man’s followers as well, but what Jacob wanted to know was why.

Why did Hadrian hold such a strong abhorrence for the Dark Lord?

Why did he react so strongly to Malfoy’s ploy?

Why was he so against the tournament itself?

Jacob was well aware of how dangerous the tournament could be for the champions. The entire process was filled with ridiculous challenges and the possibility of death. But he also knew that the champion who won the tournament was often hailed as some sort of hero.

He was unwavering in his belief that Hadrian could win the tournament. The boy was the most talented individual he had ever encountered, and his knowledge was beyond formidable. He could easily claim victory over the others and put Beauxbatons’ at the top.

To have overheard Hadrian say that he was trying to avoid nominating himself…

It would serve him right if he became Beauxbatons’ champion anyway. He thought with almost childish anger as he bit into his food.

OoO

That night, the hallways were absolutely silent as a figure moved quickly in the direction of the Great Hall, polished shoes making no sound as they connected with the aged stone.

Eyes continually scanned the way ahead for any sign of movement, as well as occasionally darting behind to make sure no one was following.

Hogwarts held an entirely different atmosphere at night, dark and oppressive and ancient. During the day, the hallways were streamed with light, the copious amount of windows allowing the beautiful countryside visage to peak through the walls and give the castle a sense of overwhelming warmth.

At night though…it felt as if the very walls were pressing in around you. The lack of noise made one feel so very small, the shadows played tricks on the mind and the air itself seemed to clog in the throat.

It was a wholly unnerving experience.

There was a sound up ahead, the briefest rustle of robes.

The figure immediately plastered itself into the rough stone wall, pressing as closely to the suit of armour as it could and hiding in its shadow.

There was a long moment of quiet, before a student – prefect badge proudly adorned on her outer-robes – strode passed. However, there was a tiredness to her, and her eyes were not as sharp as they usually were after such a long day.

And it was that fact that allowed the figure to go without notice. The girl continued on her way with hardly a pause, gaze not even flickering off to the side.

The figure waited for almost a minute before peeling away from the wall and quickly carrying on, steps slightly more hurried then they were before.

Finally, it reached its destination.

Hands gently reached out and pushed at one of the towering doors of the Great Hall until it swung open without so much as a squeak.

The figure hesitated on the threshold, eyes darting over the darkened hall and back down the hallway cautiously. The almost-run-in with the prefect filling it with unease.

Assured that no one was coming to interrupt for the next few minutes at least, the figure stepped inside and closed the door behind it softly. Once that was done, it swiftly made its way to the eerily lit goblet.

The dancing blue flame painting ominous shadows over the figure’s face.

The age line parted without incident, welcoming the person into its circle.

The figure stopped right next to the goblet, fingers moving almost unconsciously to drag out a slip of parchment from its pocket.

Dark eyes scanned over the hastily written name, a strange emotion rising in the figure’s chest.

Hadrian Evans.

For a long time, the figure simply stood, staring at the name almost reverently. A finger ran over the letters, almost smudging the words due to the ink not being quite dry yet.

Eventually, the figure roused from its contemplation and straightened its shoulders and with it, its resolve to do this.

With a determined glint in its eyes, the parchment was tossed into the goblet’s waiting fire.

There was a small flare, signifying the nomination was accepted.

The figure turned and left, both exhilarated and guilty at what it had just done.

OoO

“You are in a good mood this morning.” Claire commented as Hadrian dropped down next to her, his hand sneaking out and attempting to steal a slice of toast from her plate. She swatted the offending limb away from her food without looking.

Hadrian withdrew his hand, not seeming all that hurt. “I had a good sleep,” he said, his tone reflecting his bright disposition.

Claire shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, “Did you now?”

He hummed, taking a sip from his glass. From the strong aroma she guessed it was coffee, a treat Hadrian rarely allowed himself even back at Beauxbatons.

“And how was your sleep?” He inquired absently, green eyes scanning over the Great Hall with vigilance. Claire wondered who, or what, he was looking for. She was not all that bothered that he was not paying full attention to her.

“Oh, you know,” she said airily, “Raina and I finally worked out all that sexual tension together – I am surprised you did not hear us.”

“Good,” he murmured, clearly not registering what she was saying. Claire felt a small grin appear on her face.

Raina slid into her seat across from her. “What are we talking about?” she asked.

“I was just telling Hadrian that you and I had a round of wild sex last night.”

Raina cocked an eyebrow in confusion, before she looked at Hadrian and noted his distracted state. She grinned in amusement. “Oh yes, of course. Quite a way to spend the night. Maybe next time we will let you join us.”

“That’s nice,” the boy replied with a slight frown, eyes still searching the gathered students.

The two girls shared a chuckle, which grew into delighted laughter when they caught the stare of a few of their fellow students, their faces lightly dusted with pink.

“And now we sit back and wait for the rumours to spread. I can only imagine what they will be saying about us before the day is over.” Claire giggled.

“No doubt it will either be about the absolutely delicious relationship between two attractive females from Beauxbatons – or the potential threesome with wonder boy here.” Raina said dryly, mouth quirking up into a grin at the thought.

“I suspect the second option; Hadrian seems the type to be involved in such a scandalous affair. In fact, I wonder if he already has.”

Together, they sent a probing look at the beautiful boy beside them.

“I somehow doubt it,” Raina said after a moment, “he is picky about who he sleeps with. You remember Fleur?”

Claire laughed, “Oh, how could I forget that whole debacle. She was so ridiculously mad at him she spent half the year trying to beat him in duels.”

Raina smirked in delight as she recalled some of the more memorable fights between the calm and collected fourth year Hadrian, and fire-spitting seventh year Fleur. “But remember what he did at her graduation?” Claire continued.

They both sighed longingly.

Hadrian had spent a better half of his fourth year riling Fleur up whenever he could, taking great pleasure in making the quarter-veela lose her cool after he had not-so-subtly turned down her offer of courtship.

It did not help that that was the year Hadrian really came into his own and began to dominate the duelling class.

Whenever Fleur and Hadrian went against each other it was pure chaos that always ended in her defeat.

But at Fleur’s graduation, Hadrian had gifted her with a beautiful necklace. It was a simple pendent on a silver chain, but it was a stunning piece that had many girls stewing in jealously.

It was because of that, that Fleur had accepted the gift with grace. As she was the only girl to have ever been given such a gift from Hadrian at that point, and because it symbolised the beginning of their friendship.

“I wonder if she will be coming here after the champions are announced – does she not work in the ministry?” Raina mused as she took a bite from her breakfast.

“I believe so, though I have not followed her that closely after she left. I do know her father is on the council along with Jacob’s, but I’ve heard no mention of her taking over his place eventually.”

“She is an assistant to the Undersecretary,” Hadrian spoke up suddenly, breaking back into their conversation with an ease that suggested he might not have left in the first place. The two girls glanced at each other, before dissolving into quiet laughter again.

“Welcome back,” Claire said, jostling him gently with her elbow. Hadrian saluted her with his drink and a cheeky smile.

“Have either of you seen Jacob this morning?” he asked, “He was not there when I woke up, and I was hoping to talk to him before classes.”

“Did you have a fight?” Raina questioned teasingly.

Hadrian shrugged, “In a manner of speaking, yes. I wanted to clear some things up with him before I nominated.”

Instantly, the two lost their humour. “You’re nominating yourself?” Claire said, “Today?”

“This morning.” He agreed, folding his arms and leaning forward on them. “I figured it was time anyway, they draw the champions in only a matter of weeks, best to get it out of the way early.”

Claire looked down at her breakfast. “I both hope you get it, and hope you do not. Is that strange?”

He smiled at her, “Not at all. I, for one, hope I do not become champion; I have no desire to die.”

“I think out of everyone, you have the greatest chance of survival.” Raina said quietly.

Hadrian sent her a smirk, “Your vote of confidence is, as always, appreciated darling.” He took a final sip from his coffee and placed the empty glass on the table. “Well, I might as well do it now. I can always talk to Jacob at another time.”

He stood and made his way to the goblet. Much like every other nomination, the chatter in the Great Hall trickled off when others began to notice what was happening.

Hadrian passed easily through the age line and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. Claire watched as, without hesitation, her friend dropped the folded slip into the flame. The fire burned brightly in acknowledgement.

Hadrian seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as he made his way back to them, their fellow students clapping in support.

By the time Hadrian had returned to his seat, they were surrounded by a number of their peers. Charles patted Hadrian on the back enthusiastically.

“About time, I have been waiting for you to do that since the day we got here!”

Hadrian grinned back at the other boy, “And when will you be nominating yourself, Charles?”

“With you in the running there’s almost no need,” Charles replied, “but I will do so tomorrow, I think. Albert and I plan to do it together. I heard most of the Durmstrang students have already nominated themselves, so we should probably start. We don’t want to look bad.”

With that, the conversation swept onwards, others now announcing when they planned to nominate themselves.

Amidst the noise, Hadrian’s eyes finally landed on Jacob, who had just entered the hall in time to see his nomination.

The boy’s brown eyes went from Hadrian, to the goblet, and back again. Hadrian read the unspoken question in his friend’s eyes.

Even as something in him twisted at lying, he smiled and nodded.

The relief on Jacob’s face was almost amusing.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks passed relatively quickly for Hadrian, as the students settled into their school work and grew accustomed to the changes to their timetables, as well as the presences of the other schools.

There was, naturally, still a bit of tension in the air; simply the result of the rivalry between the three student bodies.

Hadrian knew though, that once the champions had been selected and the tournament officially started, the childish rivalry would undoubtedly explode into an all-out war.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that children had the tendency to blow things well out of proportion.

For now, there was only a crackling energy that seemed to follow everyone.

Hadrian, on the other hand, found himself to be the calmest he had been since he had first heard of the tournament. He had not even noticed how horribly tense he had gotten after arriving at Hogwarts until he had slipped his false nomination into the goblet.

It was freeing for him to just be a student, to only worry about his classes and assignments; rather than have to spend all his time plotting and scheming ways around his problems.

Of course, being who he was, he was never fully relaxed. He was all too aware of how his enemy lurked in every shadow of this place, how anything he did had the potential to be reported back to Voldemort if he drew notice.

Which is why he was so very pleased he had managed to avoid Riddle for the past weeks. While he had enjoyed their little battle of wits – loathe as he was to admit it – Hadrian knew the man was far too dangerous to interact with for any length of time.

He had been caught off guard too often during their meeting, had gotten too invested in the conversation and trading of questions to maintain total control of the whole thing.

His mother would be ashamed of him for so easily getting swept along by someone else. She had trained him better. It was just…

Riddle had been fun to talk with. The man – while positively sinister – was sharp and quick-witted, with a dark sense of humour that Hadrian could appreciate. Excluding the obvious age difference, it was almost like talking to himself in a way.

Which was why Hadrian had absolutely no qualms with researching the man. There was nothing wrong with…satisfying his curiosity after all.

He learned quite a lot actually.

It appeared Tom Marvolo Riddle was quite the celebrity in Britain, particularly in Hogwarts. He had attended from 1938 to 1945, during the height of Grindelwald’s reign, had been Prefect and later Head Boy, a member of Slytherin House, the current holder of the highest ranking results achieved by a student at Hogwarts, and had been awarded a special school service award for helping fix some fiasco that happened during his time at Hogwarts.

He was also a half-blood, if the rumours held any credibility. Though no one seemed too certain exactly which wizarding family the man hailed from. Hadrian suspected to was his mother’s side, seeing as it was customary for the woman to take the male’s name at that time and there was no way ‘Riddle’ was a wizarding name.

Hadrian was also pleasantly surprised to note he had been correct. Riddle had been insanely attractive in his youth if that faded article picture was anything to go on. He was definitely have propositioned the other had they been the same age.

Alas, Hadrian tried not to go for anyone more than a decade older than him – the exemption being Claire’s older cousin whom Hadrian had almost seduced one Yule when he had been fifteen, her cousin being almost thirty himself.

He could still remember Claire’s scandalised look when she saw just how effective Hadrian’s flirting had been. Nothing had happened of course, but her cousin still could not look him in the eyes; which amused Hadrian to no end.

And if his calculations were correct – and they usually were – Riddle would be seventy. Even if Hadrian was interested in seducing someone roughly sixty years older than him, he would pick someone far more influential than an esteemed professor.

So, grudging interest aside, he was very pleased that Riddle had not had the opportunity to initiate any contact between them outside of their lessons. In fact, Hadrian would go so far as to say the man was distracted lately.

Which was not all the surprising. From what Hadrian had seen, most of the Hogwarts professors were involved with the preparations for the tournament. There were no whispers of what exactly they were preparing – likely it had something to do with the first task – but if the challenges were even half as dangerous as everyone seemed to think, it made sense that the defence teacher would be included.

The man was quite intelligent after all.

Hadrian was almost tempted to try and take a peek into the man’s mind – just because he did not want to be champion did not necessarily mean he was not interested in what the tasks would be, the more he knew the better he could assist the student chosen – his instincts told him that Riddle’s head was not a place he wanted to be caught snooping around.

So to distract himself he turned his attention onto his secondary fascination. Draco was more than willing to play games with Hadrian, and the boy was far safer to interact with. He knew the other was well aware of what Hadrian was doing, that he was simply being studied; but he also knew that Draco rather enjoyed the attention.

Whenever the two of them were together, regardless of others around them, Hadrian would more than likely spend the time watching Draco and cataloguing his reactions and responses – both verbal and non-verbal.

Because of that, Draco tended to be a touch more cautious with what he did, but he also seemed to preen whenever Hadrian’s green eyes snapped to him.

It was almost adorable, because Hadrian knew the likely thought process of the other boy. It was expected that if someone you viewed as attractive, or in some way equal or better to yourself, paid attention to you that you would appreciate it on some level.

He was undoubtedly boosting Draco’s ego. But that was fine, because the Malfoy heir watched him just as closely – if not closer – than Hadrian was him.

He did not even know what he was really looking for, but all knowledge was good knowledge in his opinion. The more informed you were – no matter how disturbing or painful those titbits of information were – the more in control you were.

Control of your surroundings. Control of your allies. Control of your enemies. It all mattered.

Draco was the sole blood heir to an extremely important family associated with Voldemort, as well as the son of the Minister of Magic. If Hadrian could glean even the slightest detail from the other boy then it was worth it.

Plus, he was completely intrigued with the Hogwarts students in general. Before coming to the ancient school, if asked, Hadrian would have described the students as subdued and fearful of punishment from their Death Eater professors. That they would be marched between classes, that everything would be dull and lifeless.

It was not like that at all.

Hogwarts was…a completely ordinary school.

Students moaned about their work loads, and mumbled curses as their teachers assigned lines for their detention. They ran hurriedly to get to meals. The hallways were filled with excited chatter and laughter.

It was remarkable. To see just how untouched Hogwarts was from the Dark Lord’s tyranny.

Of course there were aspects of his presence in the school. Most of the teachers had the Dark Mark proudly on display on their forearms, and no one ever called him anything other than ‘the Dark Lord’ with the utmost respect in their voice.

Certain classes had been altered as well, Defence was one, and History of Magic another. Muggle Studies was surprisingly still around, though from what he had heard about the subject, it was less about how muggles lived and more about why they were so detrimental to the wizarding world.

Despite the consistent reminders of the man, Hadrian found he did approve of most of the changes. He knew the benefits of an updated education system that incorporated both older, proven sources, as well as newer techniques that were being created.

He had also, in his time at Hogwarts, learnt more about some of Voldemort’s policies and the man himself; due to his careful interrogating of Draco, as well as Hermione.

“Wait, so you do not actually join his ranks until you graduate?”

Hermione nodded distractedly as her brown eyes ran obsessively over her Potions’ essay. “Only if you want to, though,” she mumbled as an afterthought.

“What do you mean?”

Draco snorted quietly to himself from his seat, shooting Hadrian a look that was almost patronising. Hermione looked up from her work, a small confused knot forming between her brows.

“It’s not a cult, Hadrian. There is some choice in the matter. Only those that wish to serve the Dark Lord take the mark, and only once they are old enough to fully understand the implications of their decisions.”

She must have spotted his doubt, for she laughed a little. “Think Hadrian, what possible use would he have for a bunch of children fighting for him? It is like becoming the elite fighting force of Britain, you have the option to choose a different path if you want.”

“So…” he hesitated momentarily, “you won’t be taking the mark once you graduate?”

Her quill paused mid-word, and Hadrian noted that even Draco had stopped what he was doing. The two Hogwarts students locked eyes for a split second, seeming to have a private conversation.

“I’m not…entirely sure, really.” Hermione said slowly, fingers nervously running over her quill, switching it between her right and left hand. She stopped when she noticed Hadrian’s eyes dart down to follow the movement, both recognising it for the weakness it was.

“I just can see myself following a different path.” She said firmly. Next to her, Draco absently rubbed his left forearm, accidentally smudging ink onto the pale skin there.

“And you, Draco?” he asked, though he was fairly sure he already knew the answer. While there might be some choice in the matter, he was sure that some children would be expected to take the mark no matter what they wished.

The blond’s nimble fingers froze in their ministrations, and he cleared his throat. “I will be taking the mark once I graduate,” he said calmly.

Hadrian nodded, having expected that.

Something much like annoyance sparked through the other boy’s grey eyes. “I’m doing it because I want to.” He almost snapped, as if Hadrian’s lack-of-surprise at his declaration was an insult. “I could refuse if I wanted.”

It had been sobering, in a way, to learn that people were not forcibly induced into Voldemort’s ranks. Yes, Draco and other pureblood heirs like him, would be expected to take the mark; but what mattered was that they could say no.

Things were clearly very different from what he and his mother thought.

There was also the matter of his rising notoriety amongst the students. Word of his effortless win over Goyle had spread rather quickly, and while no one seemed particularly surprised that the hulking boy had lost, it had drawn a fair amount of attention.

Especially since Hadrian had easily established himself as a seriously talented wizard.

Mostly everyone knew who he was by this point – whether by name or sight – and while he was not shocked, it was a little tiresome having so many students either clamouring to talk to him, or simply watching him.

His fellow students at Beauxbatons might share the awe or respect he was receiving from the other schools, and knew that he typically enjoyed it; but they also knew that he did not appreciate being bothered constantly by others.

It was a delicate balance.

But Hadrian simply accepted the increased attention with grace.

Adalard Forst had been one of the students that was especially keen on talking to him whenever the opportunity arose, much to the contention of the other Durmstrang students. He did not know the boy’s motives yet, he was not trying to gain information on him – as far as he could tell – and had shown no sign that he was attracted to Hadrian.

He also did not seem bothered by the muggleborn status Hadrian claimed. If anything, it made Adalard more interested in talking to him.

For now, he was willing to humour the other, since there was nothing wrong with making ties with a Durmstrang. It could prove beneficial in the future, so Hadrian tolerated the boy’s presence whenever he happened to find him in his company.

The days continued to pass quickly, and the time to announce the champions drew ever closer.

OoO

“Hurry up!” Claire snapped, her foot tapping impatiently on the stone floor of the courtyard. Her blue eyes were glaring at her slowly moving friend.

Hadrian watched her with bubbling amusement as he purposefully slowed down even more.

The part-veela grit her teeth in frustration.

“Calm down, Claire. It does not start for another ten minutes. We have plenty of time.”

“Yes, but I want a good seat to see things from. You suddenly embracing your inner flobberworm is not as funny as you seem to think.”

He rolled his eyes with such exaggeration that it almost broke her annoyance at him. Damn Hadrian for always being able to charm anyone.

“Jacob will save us seats, and if he doesn’t, Raina will. Why are you even so excited? A classmate is basically about to be sentenced to death.”

And just like that, her enthusiasm dissipated.

He spotted the change in her immediately – of course he did – for his eyes softened and he quickly moved to her side.

He gently clasped her shoulders and waited until she was looking at him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “that was cruel of me. Let’s get inside.”

He tried to guide her towards the doors, but she refused to move. Curious and mildly concerned that his thoughtless comment had hurt her, he squeezed her shoulder in question.

“What…” She began quietly, “what if it is you they call? I know I said I was excited, but if it is you? I do not know how I would feel. And you are right, these tasks are deadly, whoever is called could die and I know you are strong and smart and capable of incredible things. But there is a part of me that worries that if you get called you could die and I would lose my best friend and –”

Hadrian blinked rapidly, stunned at the flood of words she was releasing. Oh Gods, was her voice cracking?

“Claire, Claire,” he cut her off. Partly so she could take a breath and partly because he did not want to hear what she was saying.

Hadrian was quite comfortable with the unsaid side of his relationships. He was never fully good with expressing how much he cared for his friend, or with hearing how they valued him. He much preferred the silent knowledge that they had a strong bond.

When he had her attention again he smiled at her, “There is no guarantee that I will be champion.” He shook her lightly in time with his words. “Do you hear me? I might not even be champion. You are worrying over something that might not even occur.”

“You’re the one always saying one should be prepared for every possibility. And even if you refuse to acknowledge the probability of you being chosen, that does not mean that I am so blind.” She pushed his hands away from her, only to reach out and frame his face in her own.

Normally, he would not allow such a restricting hold, but Claire was staring at him so intently that he found himself unwilling to move away. “You know that I would be there to help you, yes? That I would do whatever you needed to stay alive. Cheat, lie, mislead, bribe. If it meant that you would survive, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

Hadrian stayed silent and nodded, honestly touched.

A part of him was eternally glad that he would not be champion, that there would be no need for Claire to do any of these things; while another was quite pleased that he had, in a few short years, managed to secure the loyalty of the heiress of such an influential French family. He would need that devotion in the coming years.

He covered her hands with his own, stroking her knuckles. “Thank you Claire.” He kissed one of her palms and smiled gratefully at her. “Hopefully we will avoid having you commit such crimes.”

She returned his smile, still holding his hands tightly.

“Oh!” A voice exclaimed off to their side.

Hadrian’s eyes swiftly darted from Claire’s face to land on the figure watching them.

“Mr. Abernathy,” he greeted pleasantly, rotating to face the man fully and smoothly tugging his hands free from Claire’s grip. “what a surprise, heading to the ceremony?”

The man’s brown eyes switched quickly from Hadrian to Claire and back again, his mouth twitching with what looked like a grin. “Why yes, I would have thought all the students would be there by now though.”

“We were just about to go there ourselves, sir.” Claire spoke up, voice perfectly polite. “Hadrian and I were just having a small discussion.”

“I could see that,” and yes, that was a grin he could see curling the edges of the man’s mouth. His voice tinged with teasing. Claire’s eyes widened a fraction when she caught his implication.

“Ah, no sir, we, we aren’t –”

“We are just close friends, Mr. Abernathy.” Hadrian injected easily, a trickle of warmth in his tone and a smile that showed he felt none of the embarrassment she herself felt at the mistake.

“I believe you,” Abernathy said in a way that hinted that he did not, but Hadrian was willing to let it go. This was the first time he had seen Abernathy since their introduction, and all his original curiosities came roaring to the forefront of his mind again.

The politician that did not act as a politician. The man that, within a few moments, felt some form of affection towards him. It was odd. Hadrian briefly considered if the man had known his parents.

He knew he resembled his father a great deal, but the older he grew the more Lily’s features made an appearance. Without glasses, the resemblance between he and James had diminished slightly the older he grew.

It could explain why the man liked him so quickly, but Hadrian was sure that if the man did suspect anything he would have approached him by now.

“Perhaps we should head in together?” Abernathy suggested, walking towards them with an easy gait and bright grin. Claire made a noise of agreement, so Hadrian conceded with a dip of his head.

“So how have you two been, settled into Hogwarts yet?” Hadrian passed control of the conversation to Claire, letting her soothing voice distract Abernathy so Hadrian could watch him quietly.

He appeared to be restless, his hand dipping into his pocket to grasp something before quickly slipping out. He did it several times, almost subconsciously. Hadrian suspected that whatever object the man had there was quite valuable to him, and momentarily entertained what it could be.

“– House?”

“Oh, Hufflepuff. What about at Beauxbatons? I’ll admit I don’t know all that much about it.” Abernathy laughed, as if his lack of knowledge was some form of joke. Claire returned his amusement with a polite smile.

“We do not have Houses at our academy, I’m afraid Mr. Abernathy.”

The man blinked in surprise, the expression far too innocent to be faked. “Truly? None at all?”

Claire and Hadrian looked back at him, their faces a mirror of detached interest.

“But don’t you have a lot of students?”

“We have over five-thousand students, including our junior academy.”

Abernathy’s eyebrows shot up and he let out a low whistle. “And they only sent about thirty of you?”

Hadrian shrugged fluidly, and gave the man a smile with just a hint of teeth. “We are the best.” The corner of Claire’s mouth twitched upwards.

“And Hadrian is the best of us.” She said proudly, eerily similar to how a mother might boast of her child’s achievements. Hadrian almost smiled at the comparison, easily being able to see Claire as a mother. She had the right mix of compassion and steel to handle children.

“Is that right?” Abernathy looked down at him, though there was no condescension or doubt present on his face. He looked as if he fully believed Hadrian was the pinnacle of Beauxbatons students.

He opened his mouth to clarify, but Claire smoothly cut him off before he could deflect. “Oh yes, which is why most of us already know who our champion will be.”

Quick as lightning, Abernathy’s eyes darted to Hadrian, an odd emotion flickering in them and disappearing before he could properly decipher it. Instantly, Hadrian began revaluating his opinion of this man. Clearly he had underestimated him – someone who was so skilled in covering their emotions was someone to be wary of.

He automatically began reaching out to get a proper read on the other, but Claire bumped into him, distracting him. “Désoléé.” she mumbled, sounding more irritated at herself than anything.

“So…you think you’ll be champion?” Abernathy prompted, uneasily. Hadrian narrowed his eyes.

“I keep an open mind,” he said before Claire could jump in. “my classmates are the ones you refuse to believe in alternatives.”

“Oh, please,” Claire snapped fondly, “you are the smartest, strongest and most skilled student our academy has seen in decades. The chance of it not being you is miniscule.”

“Miniscule is still a chance.” He responded dryly, both extremely pleased and nervous when they finally reached the Great Hall, able to hear the chatter of hundreds of students.

It was filled to the brim, the centre of the hall being dedicated to the goblet with the tables and chairs pushed closer to the walls. Students were crammed wherever they could find space, all straining to keep the artefact in their line of vision.

Hadrian nodded to Abernathy and shook the man’s hand, silently watching for any changes. “Until next time, Mr. Abernathy.” He said.

The man gave him a tight smile, looking a little put off from their earlier discussion.

“Of course, good luck Hadrian.” Whether he was wishing him luck in avoiding the title of champion or not, Hadrian did not know.

He and Claire split from the man and hurried to the section of students swathed in blue blazers.

Raina spotted them first and ruthlessly shoved people away to make room for them. Hadrian hid a small grin at the grumbles they received.

“Where have you been?” the dark haired girl snapped quietly. Her blazing eyes locked on Hadrian.

He held his hands up in defence. “Gods, get out of my face, we’re here now aren’t we?”

She huffed in a dissatisfied manner, but could not deny that yes, they were here in time.

“They will be calling the name in a matter of moments.” She informed them before ignoring him completely in favour for Claire.

Hadrian used the opportunity to look at the High Table. His eyes were immediately drawn to the chair besides the Headmaster’s. Voldemort, while not seated at the centre of the table, was clearly the most important figure in the room.

It was only the third time Hadrian had really seen the Dark Lord. The man was practically a shadow, never showing up for any meals, never seen walking through the hallways. It was unnerving to know his enemy could ghost about without anyone seeing him.

He was still grotesque, features just inhuman. But at the same time, there was something absolutely fascinating to look at. There was just an aura about him that drew attention effortlessly.

Hadrian eventually pulled his eyes away before the man noticed his staring – though he doubted the man would single him out considering half those in attendance were doing the same – and scanned the rest of the table.

It seemed almost everyone was there, except Carrow and Riddle. There was a strange flutter of disappointment at the defence professor’s absence that he was in no way eager to evaluate. It was curious as to what would be keeping the man though.

Behind the Head Table was another, this one filled with Ministry officials. With only a cursory glance Hadrian could pick out Lucius Malfoy, blond hair acting much like a beacon in the dimly lit hall. He could also see Abernathy slinking his way to a seat.

Yaxley stood and made his way to the front of the students, standing patiently with his hands behind his back. Once others began noticing the man, the noise dramatically dropped, excitement and anxiety taking its place like a cloud over them all.

Even Hadrian could feel himself tensing in bubbling curiosity.

“Thank you for your attention,” the man began, his voice effortlessly carrying through the vast room. “as you are aware, tonight is the night where the three champions are selected, and signifies the official beginning of the Triwizard Tournament.”

There were murmurs running through the students.

“The champions will be faced with three extremely dangerous tasks throughout the course of the tournament, tasks that will test them physically, magically, mentally and emotionally.”

Yaxley’s steely eyes scanned over them, his face grave. “They will be asked to do extraordinary things, to push themselves further than they have ever gone before. There is the strong likelihood of death, and each will become world-renowned for being chosen. But the winner…”

The silence in the hall was devastating. Hadrian had never felt something like this before, trapped amongst hundreds, all clinging to someone’s word. It was exhilarating.

“The winner will become a legend.”

There was an almost silent sigh, a collective breath released slowly.

Yaxley allowed them a few moments before he nodded sharply, “We will now begin the ceremony.”

The man strode towards the goblet, standing just beside it and stared up at the flickering blue flame. Every pair of eyes was fixated on the fire, rapt. Yaxley raised one hand towards the goblet, and though he spoke no words, he had clearly preformed some sort of spell.

The fire turned a blazing red, and grew rapidly, wild tails of pure magic spouting forth and whipping through the air. The hall was bathed in colour and the intensity of the heat forced those closest to the goblet to shrink back in surprise.

Yaxley did not flinch from the artefact, his eyes followed each flicker of flame, clearly waiting for something.

It became apparent a moment later when, from the fire, a piece of parchment was released.

Hadrian rocked forward in interest, his bright green eyes tracking the singed paper as it fluttered down to the Headmaster’s waiting hand. He breathed deeply, his nerves still tingling from the sheer ancient power that clogged the air.

Unconsciously, his hands tightened around the edges of his seat.

He watched as Yaxley easily unfolded the parchment and read the name. “The Durmstrang champion is Galiana Kaiser!”

The Durmstrang section erupted into cheers, and Hadrian pursed his lips when he spotted the girl as she made her way towards Yaxley. It was the same girl that had practically spat at him when they first met in the Potions classroom, and had continued to glare and snarl whenever they happened to be in the same area.

The girl – Galiana, he mentally stored the name away – held herself proudly, shoulders thrown back and head high. She shook Yaxley’s hand firmly, her brow knitted with determination.

Yaxley handed the girl her nomination and ushered her to the side where she was herded down a corridor and out of sight by another wizard, his attire identifying him as a Ministry worker.

Hadrian accidentally locked eyes with Adalard from across the hall. The boy in question gave him a small nod in acknowledgement. Unlike his classmates, Adalard was not cheering obnoxiously, and Hadrian wondered if the other had wanted to be champion, and was now disappointed.

It took quite a few moments to calm the chanting Durmstrang students, with their frankly disturbing Headmaster – Igor Karkaroff – having to swoop in and growl at them to be quiet.

With the commotion dealt with, everyone’s attention drifted back to the goblet, the tension in the air escalating once again. As if it had been waiting, the goblet once again flared and spat out a second piece of parchment.

Again, Yaxley took a moment to read the name quietly before looking up and over towards their section.

Hadrian tensed, knowing that it was the nomination from their academy.

“The Beauxbatons champion is Hadrian Evans!”

OoO

Raina felt, more than saw, Hadrian go rigid beside her.

The students around them exploded into noise, shouts of excitement and vigorous claps broke out.

Her mouth went dry even as she joined her classmates in their celebrations.

Hadrian…

Her dark eyes shot to the boy next to her, searching for his reaction.

Like always, there was nothing to give away the other’s thoughts. It had once bothered her how efficient Hadrian’s mask could be, how easily he could hide his emotions behind a stony expression or a calculative smile.

It had been unnerving to see such precision from someone her own age, especially when they had first met. But that was before she had learned how to read him, at least partially.

She knew he was stunned at the reveal, could see it along the tight lines of his shoulders, the way his skin was a touch lighter than it usually was, the small clench to his jaw.

Her eyes trailed passed him to see Claire – her friend’s face was a strange mixture of pride and terror, mirroring her own emotions exactly.

Pride, because Hadrian was going to be representing their academy, that he would be able to showcase to the world just how skilled he was and heighten Beauxbatons reputation by competing and winning.

But terror, because Hadrian – the smug, daring, creative, dashing boy – was about to risk his life. He was about to be tossed into situations that could very well kill him, and expected to succeed for some twisted sense of honour and glory.

While she had always known it would be him, it did nothing to ease the sudden rush of fear that flooded her.

Her mind was overwhelmed with images of the boy broken and beaten and covered in blood, surrounded by unimaginable dangers that he was unable to fight off.

Raina watched with a heavy heart as Hadrian was forced to his feet from the swelling students behind him.

The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, indecision and anxiety flaring in his eyes. The weakness was fleeting, because not even a moment passed before his face smoothed out and he began to make his way over to Yaxley.

The perfectly blank expression did not fool her though, she knew Hadrian was still reeling from the reveal. She had seen him react like this a number of times throughout their years together, had seen him retreat behind a wall of indifference when he lost his footing, or was taken by surprise.

He was doing that right now, a default precaution to protect himself while he processed and analysed the situation.

Claire slid closer to her, taking Hadrian’s spot and the warm weight of her friend broke her free of her morose thoughts. She released a shaking breath.

“He…he will be fine.” Claire said, voice barely audible above the ruckus their classmates were making. A small section of Raina wanted to be ashamed of them, a much larger part could hardly care.

“Of course he will be. He is the best we have. If anyone can handle these tasks, it is him.” Raina spoke with conviction. She and Hadrian might not see eye-to-eye all of the time, but she was fully capable of appreciating a person’s strength and skill.

Though even as she said this, her mind flittered back to the images of Hadrian hurt –

Claire made a strange noise in the back of her throat as they watched Hadrian shake Yaxley’s hand and take the parchment with his name on it from the man. The Headmaster’s lips moved, but they were too far away to hear, and neither of them could lip-read.

“I will contact my cousin in the Ministry and see if she has heard anything about what the first task could be.”

Raina nodded slightly, “I will send a letter to my father as well. He will likely be able to ask some of his circle if they have heard any rumours.”

“We should also have a look at what some of the tasks in previous tournaments were, there might be a pattern or some information that could prove useful.” Claire continued, her eyes tracking Hadrian’s small, blue-clad form as the boy was ushered down the same path as Kaiser had been earlier.

“I agree. We will start tomorrow, I will ask the others to get in touch with their connections as well and see what they can uncover.”

Hadrian was theirs, after all, and they took care of their own.

OoO

He paused just outside of the room they had pointed him to, leaning his forehead against the smooth stone wall and tried to breathe slow and deep in an attempt to fend off the impending attack.

He could feel the minute trembling escalate as he struggled to get air into his lungs. He knew he only had a few moments to get control of himself before the Hogwarts champion would be announced and would be coming down here.

But it was so hard. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, not even his short gasps could break through the pounding of his heart. He could not breath.

Champion…

Gods…How…? How the fuck did this happen? What the fuck happened? I don’t understand.

He clenched his right hand tightly, the slip of parchment crackled harshly at the brutal treatment but he paid it no heed. His other hand came up and splayed across his chest, feeling the rapid movement under his palm.

Someone had to have slipped my name in. That’s the only explanation. Someone wanted me to be champion. But why? What possible motive…?

He twitched as another thought occurred to him.

Mother is going to be furious. The very idea of his mother’s reaction made his breath increased and body shudder violently.

She had not reacted well to him joining the European Seekers challenge, where he had still managed to keep a relatively low profile despite drawing with Viktor.

He could still remember her disappointment and anger at him – “How could you be so reckless!?” – and dreaded having to tell her that he had failed once again. It had been such a simple task, avoid being champion, and he had botched it so magnificently.

Their lives depended on him being able to keep his head down until they were ready. He was supposed to build contacts and alliances slowly, working and manoeuvring and influencing from the shadows.

And now he had gone and gotten himself involved in one of the biggest events to rock their word in two hundred years.

Being a champion meant unwanted attention. It meant that everyone and their dog would be hunting for information. It meant that his mother and he were now in an extremely precarious situation.

All it took was one dedicated reporter that was too curious for their own good, and their little family would be extinguished.

He would have to be so vigilant with everything he did, every word he said. Just one wrong move from him and it would all be over.

Ironically, it was that thought that calmed him down. The pressure in his chest began to abate and his breathing slowed until it was only a touch faster than normal. His mind settled as he accepted this latest occurrence.

He would just have to treat this like any other problem he had encountered. He would evaluate, learn every scrap of information relevant to his situation, then he would dominate it.

Because he knew that now that he was champion he could not afford to lose. This was an unfortunate circumstance, but it was not completely detrimental. Yaxley was many things but a fool was not one of them. The man had been absolutely correct in his assessment that the winning champion would become a legend.

Having that kind of recognition would be an immeasurable boost to his plans. Hell, it could be the thing that ended up saving everything he and his mother had worked for.

Hadrian pushed himself away from the wall and smoothed down his uniform, running his hand through his hair a few times and making sure he looked presentable.

With one last quick moment to collect himself, he opened the door and entered the room.

Galiana looked up sharply, her features contorting unattractively when she recognised who he was, and what his presence meant.

“You haffe got to be kidding me.”

“Believe me sweetheart, I am not exactly thrilled to see you either.” He responded almost automatically, his mind still swirling with ideas.

“I am going to destroy you, mudblood. Ve vill see vo is laughing in the end.”

“I wasn’t laughing in the first place.” He muttered, already bored with her. She was just another prejudiced soul that thought a person’s worth was dictated by their blood. Of course, there must be something special about her if the goblet chose her, but he would have plenty of time to study her at a later date.

There was another explosion of noise, muffled by the thick walls but loud enough that they knew the Hogwarts champion had been selected. They both straightened as the doors burst open and a figure entered.

Hadrian’s eyes almost closed in despair when he saw Draco ushered inside, a slip of parchment clutched tightly in his hand. The other boy looked a little pale, but besides that he did not seem to share Hadrian’s panic.

A man, dressed in obscenely decorated robes, instructed them to wait for another few moments before slamming the door closed behind him, and leaving the three of them in a tense silence.

Hadrian traded guarded looks with Gailana, before he slid closer to Draco. Out of the two of them, at least he had established some form of shaky friendship with the boy over the weeks. Gailana looked like she would bite him if he got too close.

“Looks like this year is going to be more difficult than I originally planned.” Draco said pleasantly to him, doing a remarkable job at hiding his nervousness. Hadrian could see it lurking in his eyes though.

He hummed in agreement. “I cannot imagine handling all this and our finals.”

“Oh no, my father told me the three champions are exempt from all exams. The tournament is, thankfully, seen as enough.”

“Honestly, I would rather take the exams.” The dark haired boy said dryly, prompting a small smirk from his companion. They lost their humour after a moment though. They were both disillusioned to the fanfare surrounding this, and knew exactly what could happen to them.

Draco held up his piece of paper, “It’s amazing, isn’t it? That one little slip of paper could be the reason I die.”

The name Draco Malfoy was scrawled elegantly for him to see.

His words brought Hadrian’s mind back to his own parchment. In his confusion and panic he had not even glanced at the little thing.

He quickly unfolded it and scanned the writing, eyes tracing over his own name.

“Are you alright, Hadrian?” Draco’s voice sounded far away and distorted.

No. He was not.

Seeing his name on the paper rammed home the fact that he was probably going to die, and there was nothing he could do to get out of this.

But what made it worse was that he recognised the handwriting.

How could he not, when for the last three years he had swapped notes with this person, that he had spent time reading over essays and assignments done in this writing.

Hadrian lowered the parchment, feeling something he was not quite familiar with fill his chest as a lump formed in his throat.

It was Jacob’s handwriting.

Chapter Text

For the first time he could recall, Hadrian’s mind just stopped. His thoughts fell flat, half-formed and unacknowledged.

He blinked heavily, once, twice, trying to struggle his way passed the haze that was clogging his head. Unlike before, he did not lose his composure. There was no shortness of breath, no horrible tremors.

Instead there was a small ember of anger that sparked in him as the disbelief and sting of betrayal wilted.

His hand clenched around the paper and his eyes darkened, the bright emerald becoming almost black as his magic began to writhe within him, begging to be released.

Hadrian had read that bursts of extreme negative emotions could affect a wizard’s ability to wield their magic, making it wild and uncontrollable. He had never, in all his years, felt anything so potent that it could shake the tight leash he kept on his power.

Until now.

He was not a naturally aggressive person – he felt anger, certainly, and his rage could be as disastrous as a tsunami, but it was always fleeting and easily conquered.

This? This was not something he could let go.

Jacob had betrayed him. Made a conscious decision to do this to him.

That could not be forgiven.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

It would not be forgiven.

“I am fine, Draco.” His voice gave no indication of his emotional instability, and moments later his face was wiped of anything that could give it away.

Draco gave him a wary look, grey eyes searching for answers. “If you say so,” the other eventually allowed.

Hadrian took his burning rage and tucked it neatly away, not ignoring it, but knowing it would do him no good right now. His mother had trained him in how to deal with situations like this, how to organise his thoughts and compartmentalise so as to not get distracted by his emotions.

He did not know what he would do when he inevitably saw Jacob again, and part of him was actually scared of what his reaction would be; but for now, he revelled in the calmness that settled over his thoughts and blanketed his turbulent state.

By the time the doors opened again and a number of officials entered, Hadrian was the picture of ease, standing beside Draco with his hands loosely clasped behind his back.

The three newly named champions looked up as the adults entered, Lucius Malfoy in the lead and looking very smug for a man whose only blood-child was about to face certain death. Behind the blond Minister of Magic were the respective Heads of their schools, and Hadrian relaxed further when he spotted Madame Maxime’s towering figure.

The sight of her comforted him almost as much as seeing his mother would have.

The woman’s dark eyes landed on him the second she had cleared the doorway. There was intense pride on her features as she gazed at him, tempered by the tightness around her mouth. Hadrian distantly recalled what she had told him before they had departed Beauxbatons, of her hopes and fears.

He gave a small nod at her. The tenseness remained fixed to her, but she returned his dip of the head.

His eyes trailed passed her and ran over the number of politicians that had managed to wriggle their way into the room, most nondescript and dull, especially in the presence of the Dark Lord.

Hadrian stared at the man closely, tracing over his form with clinical interest. Already the air felt heavy with the man’s dark magic polluting in. He took a deep, steadying breath as his eyes finally reached Voldemort’s face.

He locked eyes with those crimson orbs immediately, because the man had been watching him just as closely. On the few occasions Hadrian had found himself under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord, he had always ducked away out of a healthy dose of fear.

Now, he held the man’s gaze evenly without the slightest flinch. For some reason, faced with the upcoming tournament, he was not particularly concerned with Voldemort. It was odd, considering that out of everything, his father’s murderer was indeed the deadliest challenge he would have to overcome.

But not for a few more years.

Hadrian broke the eye contact when Madame Maxime gracefully slid next to him and placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. He looked up at the large woman in acknowledgement. “Congratulations my student,” she said softly, the beautiful French words falling from her lips. “I’ve no doubt in my heart that you are the perfect choice to represent our academy.”

Her hand reached up to gently run through the back of his hair. The touch was light, likely unnoticeable to anyone not watching them, and it filled him with warmth. Teacher’s typically did not touch their students in such familiar ways, and Hadrian rarely allowed anything more than an encouraging pat on the back, but Madame Maxime was like the honorary aunt of all her students.

“Thank you Madame,” he replied, his shoulders straightening under her gaze. Despite his mixed feelings about being champion, hearing those words from this woman was enough to bring a small smile to his face. “I will endeavour to maintain our school’s reputation.”

Her answering smile was breathtaking, “Regardless of your performance during these tasks you will have the respect and support of myself and your fellow classmates. If you ever need assistance, you need only ask.”

“Thank you,” he repeated gratefully. He knew that Madame Maxime had already given them permission to do whatever it took to help the champion – to help him – but it was nice to have it reiterated.

“Olympe,” someone smoothly interrupted their small moment. Hadrian started at the cold, harsh voice and with a tinge of dread, turned to see Voldemort had approached them, and was standing at his back. This was the closest Hadrian had ever been to the man, excluding the accidental brush in the hallways.

How did he even get behind me?

“My Lord,” his Headmistress greeted pleasantly, her voice having a nice trill to it. She dipped in a bow even as her eyes hardened like diamonds. “can I help you?”

Hadrian cleared his throat softly to cover his disbelief at his Headmistress’ gall.

Voldemort smiled politely at the taller woman, not acknowledging her borderline-disrespect. “I merely wished to extend my congratulations to your champion, I have heard very impressive things about him from the professors at Hogwarts.”

Those bright red eyes moved to him, and Hadrian quickly moulded his face into the appropriate respectful and slightly awed expression it was probably supposed to be. There was a flare of amusement in the man’s eyes that told him he was not quick enough to do so.

“Thank you,” he said simply with lowered eyes, because he did not trust himself to not choke over the obligatory ‘my Lord’. Voldemort was many things, but he would never be Hadrian’s lord. The man was lucky that he even dropped his eyes as a sign of faux-submission.

He did wonder which professors in particular had been whispering reports to the man though. Carrow, most definitely, since the creepy woman seemed to watch him far too closely during Potions. Maybe a few of the more prominent Death Eater teachers.

Riddle too, he admitted to himself. Defence was a subject he was particularly brilliant in, and it was likely that anyone that displayed any significant talent in that class would end up on Voldemort’s radar. He just hoped Riddle had not mentioned some of his more liberal comments on the Dark Lord to the man himself.

“How do you feel, Mr. Evans, being selected for such a momentous honour?” There was something about how the man said his name that tickled his memory, but he could count on one hand the times he had even seen the man. In none of them could he recall Voldemort speaking directly to him, or using his name.

“The same as my fellow champions, votre seigneurie. It is, as you said, a tremendous honour.” A non-answer, and but still an answer, because he doubted Voldemort would appreciate him saying to his face just what he thought about his precious tournament.

The smile on the man’s face twisted into something very similar to a smirk, effortlessly catching the purpose of his comment. There was a flash of approval in Voldemort’s eyes. “Indeed.”

Unnerved by the intensity of the man’s stare he tilted his head in his Headmistress’ direction. The woman took lead of the conversation in an instant. “‘adrian is the best Beauxbatons ‘as to offer, my Lord. ‘e will do us proud.”

“Of that I have to agree. Top of all your classes are you not?” It seemed Voldemort was not one to take a hint. His eyes had barely flicked to Madame Maxime when she spoke. And having the question directed at him dictated that Hadrian should be the one to answer.

“I am, votre seigneurie.”

How could you possibly know that already? It’s barely been a month.

Voldemort hummed thoughtfully, head twitching to the side slightly.

Lucius Malfoy’s voice carried through the room. “Gather around champions, there are a few matters that must be addressed before we allow you to go celebrate with your classmates.”

Hadrian, glad at the timely distraction, slipped from between the two taller adults and joined Draco again. Galiana very obviously stepped up next to Draco, leaving the blond boy in between them. If he was not so unbothered by it, Hadrian might have rolled his eyes at her childishness. It’s not like being a muggleborn was contagious.

“Firstly, congratulations on your success at being named champions for the tournament, I am sure each of you are proud of your accomplishment.” Here, Malfoy’s gaze loitered on his son. When those mercury eyes moved to him, Hadrian almost grinned at the discontent present in them. Clearly Malfoy remembered him from Éric’s office, but was unsure with how to deal with him after their last encounter.

To be fair, he had purposefully messed with the man.

“These challenges, as Headmaster Yaxley explained earlier, are extremely perilous, though they are not the only dangers that linger during these times. One of the chief concerns our governments faced was how to ensure your safety in between the tasks, as in the past the occasional champion would – tragically – be injured or even killed by their competition.”

And was that not a wonderful way to kick start this tournament? Instilling paranoia amongst the champions that at any moment they could be taken out if they were too much of a threat. Next to him, Draco shifted minutely.

“Now, as we live in much more civilised times, the chances of these underhanded tactics are dismal. But, as a precaution, we have decided to enforce some means of protection for you.”

Ah, the bracelets. Hadrian glanced at the man behind Malfoy, who was clutching at a simple brown chest tightly with pudgy fingers.

“These bracelets have been personally enchanted by the Dark Lord to give each champion some measure of protection against all manner of harm. The bracelets will act as a detector in the presence of poisons, as well as produce a small, but powerful shield charm that will envelope your body when offensive spells are cast at you. There are a number of smaller enchantments as well, monitoring charms and such that will alert those of significance if something else were to happen to you; but they are unimportant.”

With a wave of his hand, the chubby man stepped forward and cracked the chest open. Inside, three intricate little bands of metal sat innocently for them to see.

They looked to be silver, and the light glimmered off them enticingly.

Voldemort stepped up to the chest without prompting and plucked one of the bands from the chest. He approached Galiana, who obediently held out her hand, wrist pointed upwards. The Dark Lord held one end of the bracelet close to her pale skin and spoke.

Or rather, he hissed.

Hadrian’s skin erupted in goose bumps at hearing Parseltongue slide out of the man’s mouth. He had always thought that French was one of the most pleasant sounding languages he knew. But this…he clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from shuddering at the sensual, caressing hisses.

With a jolt of disgust, he wrenched his eyes away from where they had been locked on Voldemort’s lips and forcibly glanced down at the band of metal. As he watched, the silver simmered and seemed to come alive. The band lost its rigidness and slipped like water from the Dark Lord’s pale hand to curl around Galiana’s wrist.

Once the band was securely in place, it regained its firmness and became the promised bracelet.

It was a fascinating piece of magic, made even more so due to its use of Parselmagic. Hadrian was determined to tinker with it the moment he was alone. While he doubted he could do much – if the spell was cast in Parseltongue, he had no hope of altering it, due to his inability to speak the snake language – he might be able to at least understand the mechanisms of some of the spells.

He watched again as Draco’s bracelet was applied, and listened to the blond’s soft, “Thank you, my Lord.” with half an ear.

When it came to his turn, Hadrian lost some of his curiosity, replaced with trepidation at wearing something created by Voldemort. He had not been blind to the way Malfoy had skimmed passed most of the bracelet’s functions. He knew that there were likely many more spells and charms in place than what they were told.

Karkaroff and Yaxley were already speaking to their respective champions, whispering feverishly in the young witch and wizard’s ears.

The figure in front of him drew his attention back to the matter at hand. With a silent sigh of resignation, Hadrian held his left hand up. Though unlike his fellow champions, he did not offer his wrist to Voldemort, he held it vertically so the back of his palm was facing the man.

The position was an unconscious decision on his part, and he hardly noticed he had done it until he caught the intrigued light in Voldemort’s eyes.

The wrist was a natural weak spot on the human body. Not only did it have the ulnar artery, which provided blood to the hand, but there was a vital pressure point located there. While muggles used acupressure to relieve pain, these points served a different function for wizards. They were the channels in which their magic flowed through.

The Nei Guan pressure point was, in Hadrian’s opinion, the most important to a wizard, as it allowed for one’s magic to flow from the core and arms to the hands, and usually then through the wand itself. If damaged or restricted, it was almost impossible to cast magic with a wand, much less without one.

It was instinctive of him to keep such a delicate part of his body and magic away from someone he viewed as an enemy. And from the curl to Voldemort’s mouth, the man had definitely picked up on the unconscious move.

Hadrian swallowed and waited patiently for the Dark Lord to attach the damn bracelet so they could get this over with. He just wanted to go to bed.

He twitched violently when a pale hand wrapped around his arm and repositioned it so that the wrist was pointed to the ceiling. The touch sent electricity racing up his arm, and he bit down on the instinct to jerk his arm away, especially when Voldemort’s thumb delicately traced over the thin skin of his wrist.

Hadrian’s breathing faltered and his fingers twitched reflexively, revealing his agitation. He barely heard the soft hisses from above him as his gaze remained fixated on that thumb resting just above the Nei Guan of his left wrist. The man only moving the digit when the silver band slithered its way over that point of his arm.

He dimly registered that the bracelet was that of a snake when he spotted the small creatures head. Its body was beautifully craved with a number of what had to be runes, though he could not read them, due to the strange, squiggling writing they were in.

Parselscript. A distant part of his mind murmured.

Voldemort hissed again, just a quick, sharp noise that only Hadrian could hear. The blank eyes of the snake flashed once in acknowledgement to whatever Voldemort had said, changing from silver to a pale red, almost pink.

Hadrian’s head snapped up to look at the Dark Lord, eyes narrowed in confusion. As far as he had seen, the man had not done that with the other two champions.

His gut churned when all the man did was smirk at him.

What the fuck did he do to it?

He clenched his jaw and pointedly did not mumble that same, simpering ‘thank you, my Lord’ as the other two. If anything, Voldemort’s eyes shone a little brighter at his disrespect.

“Excellent,” Lucius Malfoy spoke up, drawing the room’s attention once again. Voldemort stepped back next to his follower and allowed the blond to continue with his speech.

Hadrian barely paid attention, his mind too preoccupied with wondering what Voldemort had done to his bracelet. And a subtle glance at Draco’s bracelet showed blank silver eyes on his snake. His fingers traced along the cool metal behind his back, feeling out the grooves and learning the shape.

He was glad he had chosen to have it on his left wrist. Hadrian had been trained to be ambidextrous, but he had always favoured his right hand more. By having his left wrist carry the bracelet it gave him a bit more comfort to use his right hand to analyse the thing.

“The first task will be taking place in three weeks’ time from today. The task that you are expected to complete will be revealed to you two days before, to give you some time to prepare.” Hadrian blinked and glanced at the other two champions.

He doubted that any of them would wait until two days before the task to find out what they were expected to do. No doubt Malfoy would inform Draco almost immediately, and if he knew anything about Karkaroff it was that the man was absolutely ruthless and ruled by his pride. Galiana would know the task seconds after her Headmaster.

Which meant that Hadrian would have to come up with some way to find out the challenge as well. It would be a bit difficult, seeing as how he had no contacts here, and as far as he was aware, Madame Maxime had no affiliation with Voldemort’s regime. Karkaroff had the benefit of being a Death Eater, so it would not be hard for him sniff around.

Draco’s father was practically running this whole thing, so he naturally would know everything beforehand, he probably already knew what the first task was.

He supposed he could try and wheedle it out of the other boy, or maybe try Hermione. The two seemed close, so he was sure that Draco would confide in her.

His fingers never stopped tracing over the bracelet.

“I thank you for your attention, and wish you each the best of luck for the coming trials. Tomorrow, we will hold the weighing of the wands ceremony. It is a simple formality to ensure that each of your wands are functioning perfectly. Please note that there will be reporters there, and that the information will likely be published in both local and international newspapers. You are welcome to re-join your classmates now.”

Madame Maxime’s hand dropped on his shoulder again, startling him out of the odd mood he had fallen into. His hands fell apart and came to a rest at his sides.

“Come, we must return to the carriage now. Your classmates have already assembled there, and while they are likely waiting to celebrate with you, there is something you must do before.”

“Which is what, Madame?” He asked frowning lightly.

Madame Maxime smiled sweetly at him. “I have arranged for you to firecall your mother and inform her of your selection. She will want to hear it from you, I imagine, rather than the papers.”

His stomach clenched in dread at the thought of sitting down and actually telling his mother of his failure. He had hoped he could get away with simply writing her a letter, at least that way he could avoid her immediate reaction.

He slapped a smile on his face to cover his trepidation. “Of course, I had forgotten in all the excitement.”

His Headmistress tightened her grip on his shoulder. “I am positive she will be very proud.”

He chuckled lightly as he internally shrunk. “Yes, after all, this is a large honour.”

She’s going to kill me.

OoO

Hadrian shut the door to Madame Maxime’s office and leaned against it. He had managed to slip through his ecstatic classmates without much trouble, and had come in here before any of his friends could spot him. In particular, he had ducked to avoid Jacob.

The same anger started to bubble in his chest again and he shoved it down. He still did not know how he would go about confronting his frie– the other boy about what he had done.

He sighed loudly and let his head fall back against the wooden door, greatly pleased at the silencing charms that blocked out the excited chatter of the others. He let his eyes slip shut.

“Merde,” he groaned, “I’m doomed.”

He rubbed his hands together to stop the slight trembling in them and made his way over to the lit fire place. He supposed it was kind of Madame Maxime to lend her office to the champion to privately talk to their parents before the news really hit the papers, but all he could think of was his mother’s impending disappointment.

He connected it numbly and waited for his mother to answer.

It took almost a minute, but her face appeared in the flames before him. Hadrian felt his words fail him.

“Hadrian?”

Not Harry. She never called him Harry unless she was positive that there was no one around. A firecall was typically safe, but there was always the chance someone could hijack it. He released a soft breath.

“Maman,” he greeted, going for happy but falling flat. “how are you?”

“I am fine, why are you calling me? This is hardly normal for you.”

He clasped his hands together and thought furiously on how to do this. His mother was a strict woman, and while she had trained him to be wily with his words, she had always preferred him to be straight with her. He took a deep breath.

“That’s because this is not a normal situation maman.” He could see the confusion and suspicious coming onto her face, and rushed on before she could speak. “I was selected as the champion for Beauxbatons.”

Her silence was, in a way, worse than her anger.

Hadrian’s head lowered as he avoided looking at her flickering face. He could not bear to see the displeasure blossom over her features.

For a long time, she said nothing, and as each second passed without comment his nerves further unravelled. It was almost cruel of her, to drag this out for him.

“Please say something.” He murmured quietly.

“I thought you said you could avoid this.”

He could not help it, he winced. “I thought I had, but something unexpected happened and my name was pulled out.”

Lily was silent. Hadrian fixed his eyes on the lush carpet of the office. He waited for her to speak.

“What ‘unexpected’ thing happened?”

He hesitated.

She noticed.

“Hadrian.” The command had him opening his mouth instinctively.

“Someone else slipped my name in the goblet without my knowledge. I didn’t know about it until tonight when I was called.” As angry as he was, he could not bring himself to name Jacob as the source of this problem. He should, he knew it would lessen his mother’s wrath. But some misguided form of lingering attachment stopped the words from escaping his throat.

Lily sighed harshly, the noise quite loud in his ears. “Is there anyway you can get out of this?”

He shook his head slowly, “No. The moment the name is drawn, a magical contract is formed between the goblet and the participant. If I refuse to do it, my magic is forfeit.” Just the thought of losing his magic had him shaking. He could not imagine a life without it.

“Surely there must be some way. Some loophole we could use.”

“There isn’t. I checked earlier. I have to do this now.”

She sighed again, though this one was more exhausted than anything. “This shouldn’t have happened.” She said, the reprimand hovering in the air between them. Hadrian nodded once in acceptance. He knew that. He should have foreseen this, should have planned even if he had not considered it a possibility.

She had trained him to expect anything.

“This…” he bit his lip, “this might not be a bad thing, maman. In fact, I believe this could work in our favour.”

He finally raised his eyes to look at her flaming face. “And just how is this in any way useful to us?”

“Think, if I win the tournament, I would have much more influence in France. That alone would undoubtedly help us get to where we need to be. By participating, yes I draw immense attention to us, but I also have the chance to get my name out there in a way that I would not have had otherwise.”

He watched as she thought through his suggestion, holding his breath. He truly hoped she agreed with him.

Lily’s eyes returned to him. “Very well, I can see the benefits to that, are you sure you can handle it?” Her tone hinted at her lingering disappointment at his last failure to complete a task. Her doubt hurt him in a way he was never prepared for.

He straightened in his place and nodded firmly. “I will win, maman.” He told her with conviction.

“And you won’t slip?” She pressed. “You will be in the spotlight, constantly. You cannot afford to make one mistake.”

“I won’t disappoint you again, I promise.”

Her face softened in the fire. “I know you won’t darling. I know you will make me proud.” Her expression wavered. “Promise me you will stay safe. That you won’t take unnecessary risks.”

He smiled at her, pleased that she was no longer feeling angry at him. “Maman, this is me we are talking about. I don’t take risks.”

She returned his smile with a smaller one. “Of course you don’t,” she said softly. “I must go now, but I will talk to Madame Maxime about setting up a schedule to talk to you.”

“Very well,” he gave her one last smile, “I love you.”

Lily hummed sweetly, “And I you Hadrian. Goodbye.”

The call ended with one last flicker of fire.

He collapsed back in his seat and groaned loudly, running his hands over his face in exhaustion. That had been more draining than he had anticipated, but less explosive then he had thought it would be. He was just happy his mother had allowed him to explain things to her, rather than scold him.

He leaned his head on his fist and stared down at his bracelet. The red flames cast moving shadows over the metal, while making it also glow red. Like this, he could barely tell that the eyes were still their pinkish-red colour.

Hadrian rotated his wrist, watching as the jewellery caught the fire light in different ways.

It really was an impressive piece of magic.

There were several rapid knocks at the office door. Hadrian turned his head, debating if he wanted to re-join his classmates just yet.

His face grimaced at the thought of their rowdy celebrations, having no desire to be drawn into it. He just wanted to find his bed and sleep.

He froze halfway through pushing himself up.

He shared a room with Jacob.

“Merde.” He hissed.

One thing was for sure, he could not continue to sleep in the same room as the other boy. He would not be able to control himself from doing something he would regret if they were in the same space for the rest of the year. He knew Madame Maxime would move him if he asked, probably switch him with another boy.

But he would have to give a damn good excuse for wanting to move. Everyone knew he and Jacob were close, and they would notice immediately when Hadrian pulled away. Because he would pull away. As far as he was concerned, they were done.

But what could he say to Madame Maxime to get moved.

He made his way to the door and cracked it open, grateful to see that whoever had knocked had melded back into the group. Hadrian scanned the room carefully, trying to see where everyone was. The door to the carriage was still open, and he could see several students talking outside.

He silently cast a disillusionment and notice-me-not charm on himself, then exited the office. Hadrian weaved his way passed his fellow students and made for the bedrooms.

He opened the door and slipped inside, taking down his spells and closing the door quietly.

He turned around to move and stopped when he spotted Jacob sitting on his bed.

“Oh.” He blinked. The other boy gave him a little smile from where he was sitting, but the happy expression faltered when Hadrian failed to return the gesture.

“Ah…hey?”

Hadrian slammed his eyes closed and breathed deeply, clenching his hands to refrain from letting his anger get loose.

“You alright Hadrian?”

Fuck it.

“No, I’m not. But thanks for asking, it’s nice to know you are so considerate of my feelings.” The words were sharp and icy, practically saturated in his rage.

Jacob leaned back in surprise, “Woah, what’s with the venom?”

“You really want to know?” Hadrian stalked closer, unable to stop himself now that he had started. “I’m pissed because I thought I could trust you. I thought we were friends – hell, closer than friends. I thought that when I told you to drop it that you would respect my wishes.”

He yanked the crumbled nomination paper from his pocket and held it up so Jacob could see his own writing. “I didn’t think you would fucking stab me in the back! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Jacob’s eyes popped out of his head, “But I thought you nominated yourself…?”

“No, you were banking on me having nominated myself so you wouldn’t get found out! I can’t believe you did this! Nominating me? What is wrong with you?”

He threw the slip of parchment at the other. “I’ll tell you what – everything. You were angry because I wouldn’t spill all my secrets to you, so you did this as some form of petty revenge. You just did whatever the fuck you wanted because you didn’t even bother considering that I had a reason for not wanting to be champion!”

“Wait!” Jacob shot to his feet, panic flashing across his face. “That’s not it! Just let me explain why I did it!”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses! I don’t give a fuck why you did it; all that matters is that you did it in the first place! Did you even pause – for one second and think ‘this is a bad idea’?”

“I thought that the very second after I put your name in – I was just…I was frustrated and you’re right, I wasn’t thinking–”

“Clearly you were thinking enough to write my name on some paper, make your way into the Great Hall without anyone noticing, and put my name in! That’s not something that can be pinned as a ‘spur of the moment’ decision. That takes motivation and planning! You knew exactly what you were doing! You knew you were going against my wishes!”

“–and I made a mistake!” Jacob carried on, voice rushing out of him. “I felt awful the second I had done it and I knew you would be furious with me which was why I was so relieved when I thought you nominated yourself!”

“Well you finally got something right,” Hadrian spat, getting in Jacob’s face and forcing the taller boy to shrink away from him. He could not remember the last time he had been so angry, and hearing the other’s flimsy apologies was doing nothing but adding to the fire inside him.

“I am furious with you, I’m beyond furious. I can barely even look at you without disgust.”

He shoved the other away from him, making him stumble backwards. “Do you want to know why I’m so pissed though? It’s not necessarily that you betrayed me, it’s more that you betrayed me. I can count on one hand the people I trust, and you were at the top. You were the one person besides my mother I knew I could rely on. The only one I knew would have my back no matter what happened.”

He scoffed and looked away from the brown haired boy. “I don’t trust easily, and I don’t hand out friendship carelessly. You took something sacred that I gave you and you used it against me. You severed that bond between us, this is on you, so don’t think for one minute that I will just roll over and accept some half-arsed, pathetic apology for what you’ve done.”

The chandelier above them shattered, sprinkling shards of glass around them and the room darkened instantly. Hadrian quickly reigned in his magic before it destroyed something else, despite the way it strained to be released.

“Tomorrow I’m asking for a new room; I refuse to sleep in the same room as a traitor.”

He stepped closer to Jacob’s hunched form. “And if you know what’s good for you, you will not breath a word of this to anyone. The last thing I need to deal with is rumours because of your inability to keep your mouth shut.” The other’s head remained lowered.

“Am I clear, Korin?”

The boy flinched at the use of his last name, the final piece of evidence that Hadrian no longer saw him as a friend. Jacob’s head raised, though he still could not meet his eyes. His nod was miniscule.

“Good.”

The snake’s eyes glinted knowingly.

OoO

His pale fingers ran along his smooth jaw, ruby eyes alight with pure, unbridled fascination.

He had known the boy was interesting from the moment he had seen a glimpse of him in Lucius’ mind, and that interest was cultivated during their defence lessons. But this…

He breathed harshly through his nose.

The sheer rage the boy had just exhibited.

It was intoxicating.

He had no idea that Hadrian was capable of such a display. The way his words had twisted into weapons to tear apart his little friend. The way he had so easily cowered the other.

His eyes fluttered close in delight.

“Oh, the Dark Lord would not want me.”

He remembered the way the boy had teased him.

“I am strictly a Light wizard, I am afraid. What use could I be to a man who worships the opposite spectrum of magic?”

There had been hints of this throughout all their interactions. An air around the child that alluded to something darker underneath his charm and smooth-talking. A flash of it in his eyes, a twitch to his lips. All these little signs that told him that maybe Hadrian was not as he seemed.

And now, he finally had proof.

That boy was no Light wizard. Light wizards’ magic did not automatically seek to destroy when they lose control. Light wizards did not shatter glass in a moment of anger.

His fingers brushed against his lips.

He only wished he could have somehow seen it, the expressions that would have crossed his face, the way those stunning emerald eyes would have darkened as his mood fouled.

It would have been breathtaking.

Alas, the bracelet only allowed him to hear what occurred around the child.

His complete dominance of his classmate was beautiful. He had been initially confused when Hadrian’s name had been called, but hearing this conversation allowed him to understand. How bitter he was at his friend’s betrayal. Yes, that conversation had been illuminating; but his conversation with his mother was just as fascinating. Clearly, young Mr. Evans held many secrets.

All that talk of plans between the two of them.

His red eyes fluttered open.

He would enjoy unravelling them all one by one.

Chapter Text

The next day, Hadrian sat on his bed in an entirely new room, books strewn around him as his eyes darted between the pages.

He had approached Madame Maxime about switching rooms, and the woman, after staring at him closely, had agreed to move him. Though, he did not trade places with another boy, like he had expected. Instead, the Headmistress had informed him that he was being given a room all to himself.

He had been confused at first, but Madame Maxime had told him, gently, that it was for his own comfort. She had explained that being champion would put him under an extreme amount of stress, and the least they could do for him was give him a space all his own, somewhere safe he could retreat to should he need it.

Hadrian was just relieved that he did not have to spend the rest of the year in a room with Jacob. Last night had been incredibly painful and filled with tense silence.

At least now he could sleep without being overwhelmed with the knowledge that someone he had been betrayed by was lying just a few feet away.

It was a little smaller than the room he had shared with the other boy, but no less extravagant, and the soft blues, golds and whites gave the room a sense of calm elegance, mirroring Beauxbatons’. It set him at ease to be surrounded with such familiar features.

He tapped his wand listlessly against his thigh as he shoved one book away and dragged another to take its place. His bottom lip was likely a little swollen from how heavily he was biting it, but he paid little attention to it as his mind buzzed with information.

He flipped through the book quickly until he found the page he was looking for. With a hum, he brought his left wrist up to study the squiggly carvings in the metal. Now, in the bright afternoon light streaming through his window, he could clearly see that the bracelet was not fully silver.

It was electrum, an alloy of gold and silver, and a particularly powerful magical metal. Hadrian was not an alchemist, but he had a good enough grasp of the subject to understand a little about it. By using electrum, the Parselscript runes were given a natural boost in terms of strength. It was a simple method to increase the effectiveness of whatever was carved into it.

He sighed lightly and dropped his arm, eyes staring blankly at the wall.

This was harder than he had anticipated. As far as he could tell, there was no existing translation of Parselscript in any of the numerous books he had pilfered from the carriage and his classmates – who were all too eager to help him. They thought he was preparing for the first task.

In reality, he was trying to find a way to get this bloody bracelet off of him. He did not like the fact that it was crafted by the Dark Lord, and that it gave the man all sorts of information about what he did. Those ‘monitoring’ charms Malfoy had mentioned last night were no doubt more extensive than the minister had informed them.

Plus, it reminded Hadrian far too much of a manacle for his liking.

He sighed again, returning his focus to his books.

It was…frustrating, not being able to understand. He had always been an exceptionally bright student, with theories and knowledge coming to him easily. To be confronted with a problem he could not solve was testing his patience.

He was very competent at Ancient Runes, and had always been able to translate texts with little to no problem.

If only he had a key…

Parselscript was just like any language. Each symbol meant something. Each placement had a purpose. And like all other languages, you could translate it.

Hadrian ran his fingers over the bracelet again, stopping as he came to the head. The eyes were no longer glowing, having stopped and started at random intervals all throughout the day, but it did nothing to stop the uneasy feeling he had. He knew Voldemort had done something to it, issued some sort of command.

He rubbed a hand through his hair in aggravation. He was getting nowhere just sitting here. He dropped down onto his back, arms thrown out to his sides and stared at the ceiling.

Someone knocked at his door. He closed his eyes, praying it was not Jacob.

“Open the door Evans.” Raina drawled from outside. The sound of her voice brought a slight grin to his face. He flicked his wand in the general direction of the entry, hearing the lock releasing. Raina wasted no time in pushing her way inside.

The girl was silent for a few beats, then, “What on earth are you doing?”

“Wallowing in pity, contemplating how nice my funeral is going to be. I expect tears, darling, tears. Uncontrollable sobbing, in fact. And the speeches better be heart-melting, otherwise I might just come back to express my utter disappointment in you all.”

“…You are an idiot.”

“Takes one to know one.” He snipped back, childishly. “And I’m being realistic. That way if I do die in this shitty tournament, at least I won’t be too terribly surprised.”

“Pessimism doesn’t suit you,” she walked closer, eyes roaming over the books surrounding him in veiled curiosity. “the chances of you dying are smaller than you think.”

She nudged a few books away and perched herself on the edge of his bed comfortably. Hadrian cracked one eye open to gaze up at her. He waved a hand at her, “Why yes Raina, make yourself comfortable. Please ignore all social niceties and do whatever you like.”

The girl looked down at him in amusement. “What are you working on?” She asked him instead.

Hadrian frowned slightly, debating whether he should tell her or not. While Raina was intelligent, far more intelligent most, he was not yet ready to let another into his fold so soon after Jacob’s actions.

“A mini-project.” he answered vaguely, giving her a look that told her to leave it at that. Surprisingly, the girl simply nodded and moved on. He blinked, having expected her to push for more information, as she tended to do.

Raina folded her hands on her lap and gazed down at him quizzically. “What are you going to do about the first task?” she asked, voice turning serious.

He groaned, rolling over to stuff his face in the closest fluffy pillow. He lay like that for almost a minute, only moving back to his original position when she slapped him harshly on the back. Without his blazer the sting was sharp through his simple white shirt.

“Stop behaving like a child,” she snapped. “have you made any attempt at all to find out what you will have to do?”

He rubbed a hand over his face in irritation. “No, I have been preoccupied,” he gestured at the books around them pointedly.

Her face darkened. “Are you insane?” she hissed, “The task is in less than three weeks – and you have done nothing at all to prepare? Do you want to die?”

Hadrian narrowed his eyes, not liking her tone. “In case you forgot Raina, I am not exactly in the best position to go around demanding information from people. This is not France where the officials would be more than willing to give me a leverage. We are in a foreign country that has a harsher view on muggleborns than our own. I have no contacts here that I can rely on to slip me credible information, in fact, people are more likely to give me false information just to boost their own champion.”

She sat back at his words, face twisted in displease but unable to reject his logic. “Well,” she said primly, “luckily for you, you have me.”

He rolled his eyes, “And how will you help me?”

“I contacted my father,” she told him, tilting her chin. “and he provided a rather useful tip about how we might at least narrow down what you could be facing for the first task.”

Hadrian sat up, more interested. “Your father? I thought he hated me.”

Raina laughed sharply, “Hate you? No. Thinks you are an arrogant, powerful jack-arse? Yes.” She smiled nastily at him. “Regardless of his opinion though, he does not wish for his beloved daughter to lose one of her friends.”

Hadrian leaned his head on his palm, cocking an eyebrow. “‘Friend’? My, my, I had no idea we had moved passed the antagonistic stage already.” He smirked, “I knew it was only a matter of time until I won you over.”

She shoved him so he toppled over onto his back. “And you wonder why my father doesn’t like you.”

“So, what clue did daddy-dearest give you that could save me?” He said it jokingly, but the undertone of seriousness was still lingering. Raina caught it, and straightened her posture.

“He suggested we have a look at what the events of previous tournaments were. He hinted that there were recurring patterns in the challenges.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a shrunken chest. “He sent a number of documents detailing past tasks in the tournament, and I believe we should look through them to see if we can deduce anything.”

He reached out and took the small chest from her hand, turning it over in his hand. He hummed thoughtfully. “You really think they will try and replicate a task from another tournament?”

She shrugged, for the first time appearing unsure. “It is worth a try, and even if we do not find anything, it could still provide useful information.”

He nodded in agreement, “Fair enough,” he waved his hand distractedly, and the books on his bed snapped shut and flew off to his bookshelf, arranging themselves neatly. Raina watched his casual display of wandless magic enviously.

“I never understood how you could do that so easily.”

He looked up in momentary confusion, before following her gaze to the books. He shrugged, “It’s like any skill, you work at it until you become proficient. Most are capable of performing small bits of magic, very few can take it to the next level.”

“Can you?” she inquired, eying him shrewdly. Hadrian shot her an impish grin as he unshrunk the chest, without his wand, again. She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Let’s see what your dear father sent us.” He flipped the chest open and pulled out a stack of parchment. He handed that to Raina, and took another for himself. Hadrian skimmed through a few to get an idea of how the information was presented, and how long it would take them to go through it all.

Classes were over for today, with everything being more troublesome than he had liked. Having his name called as champion instantly increased his budding reputation amongst the other students. Already, people were forming opinions and placing bets on who they believed would win.

It was exhausting dealing with the incessant whispering and pointing, and he found the opinions of all of them rather fickle, with the pieces of gossip floating around now.

“I have to head back to the castle in an hour,” he informed her, eyes already soaking in the details laid in front of him. “there is a ceremony I need to partake in.”

“What kind of ceremony?”

He made a noncommittal noise, “Something called the ‘Weighing of the Wands’? Malfoy said it was to ensure there was nothing wrong with our wands before the tournament began.” He lowered the pages and grimaced. “Apparently, there will be reporters as well.”

“Oh joy,” the dark haired girl snorted, “I’m sure that will go over well. Be careful with how you talk around them. Reporters are renowned for twisting someone’s words to suit the image they are giving them.”

“I know, I just have to make sure that the image I present to them is one they will want to write about.”

“Ugh,” she scrunched her nose, “just please don’t flirt with them. They will make you out to be some sort of whore.”

Hadrian chuckled, “If I do not take any action, I am afraid I will be presented that way whether I like it or not. I am French, after all.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Hadrian smiled, caustically. “Stereotypes, darling. A lot of people seem to believe most of us have a rather risqué attitude just because we are more open about sexuality than some, and that we lack manners because we are frank. If I do nothing, they will paint me as such, a ‘typical’ French boy if you will.”

“I doubt being painted as a rude slut would help you.”

“Precisely. Though it could have some benefits.” He caught her dubious look. “Think of it this way, if everyone believed me to be nothing but an effeminate idiot, then they will underestimate me.” A dark smile curled around the edges of his mouth. “And when the challenges happen, and I show them just how dangerous I can be, how quickly do you think they will change their tune after that?”

“So…you just want to mess with the public?”

He shrugged again, “I have not decided yet. I am just saying that having a stereotype could prove useful. Then again,” he tilted his head, “do I really want to have thousands of witches and wizards think I am a stupid little boy only interested in having a good time?”

“I would prefer that you show them exactly who you are, show them that underestimating you is a mistake, that you are not someone they can slap a label on or put into a category.” Raina stared at him with determination. “I want them to see that you are powerful, intelligent, charming and ruthless when you have to be. I want them to look at you and know intrinsically that you are dangerous.”

“I had no idea you thought so highly of me,” he teased lightly to cover his surprise. “you’re making me blush.”

Raina scoffed and crossed her arms, “Just because I find you to be one of the most intolerable young men in existence does not mean I am blind to your skills.”

“Wow, from you that is basically a declaration of eternal love.” He laughed softly, eyes already back on the documents in his hand. “From what I can see so far, most of the challenges involved a lot of physical movements. Look here,” he passed a particular sheet to her and pointed out the year he was talking about. “some sort of obstacle course, from the description.”

Raina nodded, holding up her own sheet, “I agree, there seems to be a lot of physical-based tasks, though here, it is a mental problem.” She showed him the brief description of her task. “The champions each had to prepare a potion to a poison they were administered.” A flare of disgust appeared on her face. “That is horrendous. Poisoning someone and forcing them to make the antidote, the sheer pressure you would feel.”

“There is a reason this tournament was cancelled,” he absently reminded her as he read through more of the pages. “I am seeing a lot of creature-based tests.”

Raina scooted closer to him, “What do you mean?”

“Here, and here, and here, the champions either had to battle or outmanoeuvre a dangerous creature. There are some on this page as well.” He continued flipping through, and saw that nearly every tournament included a similar challenge. He lowered his paper and they shared a dark look.

“I hate fighting magical creatures,” he said quietly. “and this,” he shook the parchment, “to be forced to fight one for the entertainment of others. Despicable.”

Raina almost reached out to grasp his shoulder, but paused. Everyone who bothered to pay attention to Hadrian knew the boy held an enormous respect for any and all magical creatures. It did not matter how dangerous, or dark a creature was considered, the boy would treat it with the same regard he would any witch or wizard.

It was one of the reasons the House-elves at Beauxbatons adored him so, because he treated them normally; and why their Care of Magical Creatures professor often allowed Hadrian to interact with the creatures, but no one else. The boy had an aura that attracted witches and wizards, but also the more extraordinary beings in their world.

While she had no doubt he would fight his hardest during the tasks, she knew it would hurt him to do so.

Hadrian shook himself from his thoughts and cast a quick tempus. He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. “I have to head up to the castle now, but thank you for this Raina. I appreciate what you are trying to do for me. I’ll be sure to look through these more thoroughly when I get back.”

She raised a thin eyebrow at him, “If you think I am going to trust you to do all this by yourself then you are completely wrong.” She stood and began collecting the loose sheets in her hands. “I will continue to look through them myself thank you very much. And after I have done so I will return to you to discuss what I have found.”

He watched her with bemusement.

“I already have half the students asking around for what the first task could be, and I know Madame Maxime is looking into it herself. Between all of us, we should be able to find out what you have to do and adequately prepare you.”

“Slave driver,” he huffed in amusement, leading her to the door of his room after she had shrunk the chest again. He opened the door for her, “try not to run them into the ground doing all this research for you.”

“No promises.” Raina flipped her hair over her shoulder and left for her room.

Shaking his head, Hadrian locked his room and quickly exited the carriage, briskly making his way to the castle.

He still had a good thirty minutes to be there, but he liked being punctual. Besides, Madame Maxime would likely already be there waiting for him to arrive.

A Hogwarts student was waiting for him to give him the directions, and in a matter of minutes he was pushing the doors open and striding into the assigned room.

The first thing he noticed, other than the towering figure of his Headmistress, was the small, skinny man towards the other end of the room. Hadrian scanned him curiously, wondering what such a fragile looking figure was doing here. The man’s eyes were wide and glassy, staring absently at the wall and his lips were moving minutely, as if he were mumbling to himself.

What an odd man.

As if the thought called to him, those eyes latched onto him with an intensity that startled him. There was a spark of something a lot like recognition in them.

A trickle of fear moved down his back and without thinking he strode towards the man. He purposefully ignored his Headmistress, hating having to be rude but somehow he knew he had to deal with this wizard first.

He came to stop in front of him and held a hand out in greeting. “Good afternoon sir,” he greeted pleasantly. “my name is Hadrian Evans.” He could not help the way he stressed his name slightly. The man’s eyes were fixated on his face, as if searching for something important.

After a tense moment the look melted away and a small, pale hand slipped into his own. “Greetings Mr…Evans. I am Garrick Ollivander.”

Fuck.

Of course it had to Ollivander. He recalled his mother’s brief mention of the aged wandmaker, how he could remember every wand he had ever sold – and everyone he had ever sold them to. The next words out of the man’s mouth cemented the fear in his gut.

“Unfortunate that we only meet now,” for a brief second, the foggy expression in his eyes cleared and beneath it was a sudden and sharp knowing glint.

Hadrian saw then and there that Ollivander knew who he was, knew who his parents were. He unconsciously tightened his grip on the pale man’s hand. “Yes, I have heard a great many things about your wands Mr. Ollivander. You are quite the legend in France.”

Ollivander made a strange humming noise in the back of his throat. He completely ignored Hadrian’s comment. “Secrets have a way of finding the light Mr…Evans. And you do have so many. Best tread carefully when surrounded by those seeking to uncover them.”

With those ominous words the wandmaker shuffled away from the frozen boy.

Hadrian watched blankly as the older wizard departed to another corner of the room, and tried to hide how much those words had affected him.

It seemed his mother’s description of Ollivander’s strange behaviour was not nearly close enough to have prepared him for the man himself. Though…his continued use of Hadrian’s last name left him to believe that the other would not be revealing to everyone that Harry Potter walked amongst them.

He would have to keep a close eye on the man regardless. It would not do well to have someone like Ollivander knowing one of his secrets without any way to keep him quiet.

“Creepy, isn’t he?”

Hadrian spun to see Draco standing behind him. He had not even heard the other boy enter, but now that he was paying attention he could see the blond’s father off to the side with several other figures. He instantly recognised the French Minister of Magic.

“Disconcerting. Is he always like that?”

Draco shrugged one shoulder in answer. Hadrian took that as a ‘more or less’ from the other.

Hadrian and Draco stood together quietly, neither feeling the need to fill in the silence that had encompassed them. He did catch Draco absently stroking his own bracelet. He wondered if the blond had studied it as well.

A few more moments passed easily before the doors were thrown open again, and Galiana and her Headmaster stalked inside. They did not look pleased to see they were the last to arrive. Hadrian smiled coolly as the girl was ushered over to them, finding it somewhat amusing how ridiculous her attitude towards him was.

The three ministers spoke for a while longer, before making their way over to them. Hadrian bowed politely when Minster Lécuyer stepped up to him. He took her offered hand and gently kissed the air above it, before allowing the soft limb to slip away.

Minister Lécuyer was only just brushing her fifties, and still retained much of her youthful beauty. Her long brown hair was pinned up elaborately; her face was covered in the faintest traces of makeup, and her healthy skin hardly showed her age. It was their fifth official meeting, seeing as in the recent years Hadrian had made an appearance at several Ministry functions, as well as private family galas all high society politicians attended.

They had spoken a number of times, and Hadrian found the woman to be equal parts charming and dangerous. There was a reason she rarely had an opposition for her position.

“Monsieur Evans,” she greeted with a hint of a fond smile. “I admit I was very pleased to hear who our champion was. If word of your skills has not been exaggerated, I am sure you will make your country, and school, proud.”

He returned her smile and nodded in gratitude. “You honour me, Minister Lécuyer.”

Malfoy tapped his cane down on the floor once, the noise was soft, but it succeeded in capturing their attention. Lécuyer gave him a wink before moving off to join her fellow ministers towards the front of the room. Behind them, Hadrian could spot several different witches and wizards, along with a camera.

Reporters. Great.

He showed no outward sign of his annoyance, pointedly keeping his attention fixated on Malfoy, especially after he saw the flash of the camera.

Malfoy smiled at them, “Now champions, as you are aware, this afternoon we will be holding the ceremony known as the Weighing of the Wands. This is an age-old tradition, dating back to the first recorded instances of the Triwizard Tournament. It is nothing invasive, or dangerous.”

His gloved hand gestured off to the side, where Ollivander was standing with two other wizards. Hadrian brief scanned the other two, wondering what their purpose was. “We have called in the most renowned wandmaker in Great Britain to assess your wands. All Mr. Ollivander will do is evaluate the make of your wand, and tell if there are any…discrepancies with them that might affect your performance during your upcoming tasks.”

Malfoy gave them one more charming smile. “Afterwards, you will each conduct an interview with the lovely Ms. Skeeter, who works for the Daily Prophet. The interviews, as well as the information told by Mr. Ollivander, will be published in the next issue of the Daily Prophet.” His grey eyes rolled over them, “Are there any questions?”

None of them spoke.

“Excellent! Ms. Kaiser, would you like to go first?”

Galiana nodded sharply and approached Ollivander, tugging her wand from her pocket as she went. Hadrian could not help but compare her to a prowling lioness, poised to strike on unsuspecting prey.

It was only with a moment’s hesitation that the girl passed her wand over into Ollivander’s wrinkled hands.

The man studied the wand thoroughly, even going so far as to hold it to his ear and close his eyes. Hadrian knew very little about wandlore, and even less about the people who revolved their careers around it. To him, it was something you either had, or you did not. It was not a skill one could just learn.

All Hadrian needed to know was that his wand and he had a strong bond, and that together the two of them worked like a single-entity. He did not need to understand how the core and wood and length all intermingled to make his wand work. There was respect between them, and a fierce loyalty, and that was enough for him.

“Hmm, thunderbird tail feather core,” Ollivander said, his fingers running up and down the wand. “fir wood, eleven inches.” He tested the wand’s flexibility by grasping each end and attempting to bend it lightly. “quite springy, good for transfiguration. Geminio.” He pointed her wand at the closest unoccupied stool, and they watched as another appeared beside it. Afterwards, he handed the wand back to her.

“An impressive combination. The power of the core and the properties of the fir wood indicate you hold a great deal of power and sense of self, Ms. Kaiser.”

Galiana’s lips quirked in a self-satisfied manner, and she nodded in acknowledgement of Ollivander’s words. Hadrian stored the information away for later perusal. While he did not necessarily understand wandlore, it did not mean he could not use the knowledge to better prepare against his competitors.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Draco approached Ollivander and easily slipped his wand from his sleeve, giving it up without a pause. “Ah, yes. I remember this one quite well. Unicorn hair core, hawthorn wood, ten inches, and if memory serves,” he twirled the dark wand through his long fingers expertly. “reasonably pliant. Lumos.”

A cheerful light appeared at the tip of Draco’s wand, before the aged wizard was handing it back to its owner. “I see it has served you well these years Mr. Malfoy.”

Knowing his turn was coming, Hadrian stood and flicked his wrist, letting his wand slip comfortably into his hand. He raised it to his mouth as he walked towards Ollivander, passing Draco who shot him a curious look. “Sois sage.” He whispered to it in amusement, knowing his wand had a tendency to…be rather possessive of him. It did not like others holding it.

In fact, his wand’s rather obvious preferential treatment of Hadrian never failed to make him smile.

Coming to a stop in front of Ollivander he handed his wand over with a small smile, “Je suis désolé,” he said pleasantly, “my wand can be…difficult with strangers. I had to ask it to behave.” A curious light came to Ollivander’s milky eyes, and the man returned his smile.

“Signs of a strong bond,” the older wizard hummed approvingly. He accepted Hadrian’s wand a touch more cautiously then the other two; perhaps because of the boy’s warning, or perhaps because he did not immediately recognise who’s work it was.

Ollivander lightly frowned, twisting the wand this way and that, studying it curiously. “I am not familiar with this wandmaker’s work.”

Hadrian made a noise of understanding. “She is relatively young, Mr. Ollivander, and her business is small, but I have heard nothing but good reports from those who have purchased her wands.” He caught the man’s eyes, “Armelle Courbet.”

“Ah yes, Ms. Courbet.” Ollivander did not seem overly impressed. Hadrian hid a grin. If there was one thing he did know about wandmakers, it was that they tended to find fault in every wandmakers’ work but their own.

“Hmm, let’s see.” The man’s attention was once again fixated on the wand in his hands. Unbidden, Hadrian felt a little nervous. He wondered if Ollivander was able to tell exactly what kind of spells he cast with his wand. While Hadrian had not dabbled much in the Dark Arts recently, he did have experience with it, and did enjoy practising the branch of magic.

He knew a number of dark curses, but it was difficult to find a place to truly expand on his knowledge when he was either trapped in a boarding school that did not appreciate students flinging dark spells around, or at home with his Light witch mother.

He watched patiently as Ollivander looked over his wand, hiding the small ripples of anxiousness he could feel.

“Dragon heartstring core, laurel wood, twelve-and-a-half inches and,” Ollivander, once again twirled the wand between his fingers. “unyielding. Wingardium leviosa.” For an embarrassing moment, nothing happened. But then, after Hadrian pointedly raised an eyebrow at it, his wand begrudgingly levitated the stool it was aimed at.

He almost chuckled at how stubborn his wand could be, when not in his hands. He accepted it back from Ollivander and slid it back into the holster under his sleeve. The wood was pleasantly warm to touch. “A very loyal companion you have there, Mr. Evans.”

He looked up to see Ollivander staring closely at him. “The combination of dragon heartstring, and laurel wood certainly makes a powerful wand, and while both the core and wood are known to change possessors more easily, I can see that it would take someone truly miraculous to sway your wand from you.”

Hadrian glanced down at his sleeve, happy to have confirmation for something he already knew. “Merci.” Was all he could say in response.

He returned to his seat, catching Lucius’ eye on his way. The man was watching him with narrowed eyes, the same curiosity that had been there in their initial meeting was bubbling to the surface. Hadrian resisted the urge to smirk at the man, to mess with him once again. But nearly everyone in the room was watching him, and they would all undoubtedly see his smug expression.

So he sat and ignored the probing gaze with ease. He wondered if it was a good thing or not, that the man was paying attention to him again.

Whatever thoughts occupied the minister’s mind were brushed aside as he walked to the front, charming expression back in place. “Excellent, excellent. Now, I believe it is time for the interviews? Ms. Skeeter?”

A figure peeled itself away from the wall and stalked towards the minister. Hadrian watched as the woman, with her tight clothes, mass of blonde hair pinned up and blood-red lips stretched into a hungry smile, shook Malfoy’s hand. “How would you like to proceed, Ms. Skeeter?” The minister inquired politely, though there was an edge of cutting humour to his voice.

“Oh I would simply love to get them all one-on-one, Minister,” she purred, eyes darting over the three of them. “just a few snap questions, so our readers can better understand just who our brave champions are. How about you dear?”

Hadrian blinked as her dark eyes settled on him, and inwardly heaved a sigh. That was just typical.

On the outside, he sent her a smile that was equal parts amiable and alluring. Ms. Skeeter looked like he had handed her an early Christmas present. “I would be delighted, Mademoiselle Skeeter,” he said as he stood and smoothed down his uniform.

Skeeter’s eyes followed his hand as it tracked down his chest, her smile widening dangerously. “Where would you like me?” He asked, voice borderline teasing. He caught Minister Lécuyer half-smile from where she was standing.

Skeeter, gestured off to the side, where there was a door. “After you, dear.” She purred.

Hadrian shot a look back at Draco and Galiana, before heading off to the secluded room. He could hear the distinct click of Skeeter’s heels as she followed him quickly. Hadrian bit back a grin.

He opened the door and gestured for her to enter first, before closing the door behind them.

It was a simple, small room, with only one desk and two chairs. Skeeter’s hand burned on his lower back as she moved him to the seat on the right.

“So, Hadrian,” she began smoothly, “you don’t mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you? Makes it easier to talk to you without distraction.”

Without waiting for his response, the notebook and quill shot out of her purse and she quietly spoke to it. Hadrian looked down to see the clearly biased quill scratching across the parchment.

Well, that just would not do.

So he reached out and snatched the items from the air, flipping the notebook closed and sending a small jolt of magic into the quill to force it still. With a lovely smile, he placed them on the table between them.

“Now, Mademoiselle Skeeter,” he started, crossing his legs and leaning back confidently in his seat. Skeeter looked a mix between irritated and intrigued. That was good. He could work with intrigued. “I am sure a woman of your talents has no need to have such a plebeian tool to remember a few basic facts.”

He tilted his head at her, piercing her with a stern gaze. “Besides, I am well aware how…faulty Quick-Quotes Quills can be. It would such a terrible thing for the answers I give you to somehow be…lost in translation.” He quirked a small grin at her, and was glad to see that the interest in her eyes overcame her annoyance at his actions.

Her blood-red lips peeled back to display at least three gold teeth amidst her blinding white ones. “An interesting idea Hadrian, but how can you be sure I will remember every little detail? My readers are quite fanatic when it comes to these types of stories.” Her painted nails danced closer to her notepad and quill pointedly.

He chuckled and waved a hand airily at her, noting dully that the little bracelet’s eyes were red again. That irked him. He knew it was doing something, and he would find out what.

“I am sure I can spin a tale good enough to avoid having any of those, hmm, embellishments reporters are so known for.” He leaned forward and gazed steadily at her, conveying his meaning clearly. “I am sure that, with such a delicate balance between our countries already, no one would appreciate a dogged reporter slandering a foreign champion with twisted statements and superficial additions.”

He smiled disarmingly at her. “I would hate to see the potential backlash that would occur to that reporter.”

OoO

A newspaper was slapped down in front of him.

Hadrian did not even bother to look at it, simply blowing gently on his coffee before taking a deep drink. The girl in front of him sighed impatiently.

“How did you do it?” Claire demanded sternly.

A smirk played at the edges of his mouth. “Do what?” he inquired innocently.

Claire picked up the newspaper and held it in his face so he could not avoid the front page of the Daily Prophet.

In the middle of the page was a group photo of the three champions, Galiana standing stiffly on one side, Draco on the other, mirroring his father in every facet from the tilt of his head to the curve of his smile. And in between them, Hadrian saw himself, smirking at the camera in a way that made him look both dangerous and delightful.

Above them was a generic title about their nomination. It was the sub-title towards the bottom to which Claire was referring. Hadrian’s lips twitched in amusement.

France’s Charming Champion!

“Well?” She prompted.

“Personally I would have gone for something with a bit more alliteration. Like: ‘Beauxbatons Beautiful Badboy’, or ‘France’s Fiery Fighter’. But, to each their own, I suppose.” He took another sip of his coffee to mask his grin. Claire once again tossed the newspaper in front of him in agitation as she took a seat next to him.

“What did you do? Have sex with her? I have read a number of this ‘Skeeter’s’ stories,” she sniffed, “she is frivolous and outright smears anyone she can get away with insulting. And yet here she is, practically singing you praises and weaving you flower crowns.”

“I would look dashing with a flower crown,” he said cheekily as he started reading the story for himself. Each line he passed only increased his sense of smugness. Claire was not far from the truth. Rita did seem to go out of her way to paint him in a flattering light, but not in a way that was too noticeable, or that undermined itself by being too thick.

It pleased him that she had taken his hint.

While Rita clearly had some leeway in how she wrote, they both knew that if she took something too far and insulted him, all it would take was a whisper in his minister’s ear, and the relationship between their countries would strain further. And that would only come back on Rita. He was sure, for all her tenacity, the woman had no desire to invoke the wrath of Voldemort.

Hadrian did not have an inflated sense of self. He knew that someone insulting him would not necessarily cause a rift between France and Britain. But he did acknowledge the power he held. In the eyes of his country, he was now a celebrity, a figure of national pride.

There would be an outcry of offense if he was in anyway slandered without reason. Especially since he was quite well respected by his peers, and many of their families knew of how skilled he was as well.

As long as he excelled in the challenges as well, then there would be no reason to worry what the media would print about him.

“You are such an idiot.” The girl mumbled.

“My exams results say otherwise,” he sniped back, but the humour on his face melted away when he spotted Jacob enter the Great Hall. His lips thinned and after a moment of them staring at each other, Hadrian dismissed the other with a turn of his head.

“That’s a new development.”

Hadrian glared at Claire, giving her that one warning that he would not be talking about Jacob with her. Her face stayed stubbornly focussed on him, but she eventually caved under his silence.

“It is not like it is that big a secret. Everyone can tell that something happened between the two of you. The day before, you were as close as, well,” she coughed, “I was going to say ‘brothers’ but since the two of you were…involved…I doubt that is an accurate description.”

He rolled his eyes at her, not rising to the bait.

“What do you have first?” he asked instead, to draw her away from any mentions of Jacob.

She gave him an unimpressed look. “We have Defence, as you would know if you took the time to memorise your timetable.”

He shrugged, uncaring. “Why should I bother memorising it when I have friends who do it for me?”

“That is a horrible attitude to have. You would think that someone as studious as you would bother to know their own damn schedule.”

“Ah,” he teased, “but it’s just that. I have so much information buzzing around in my head, do I look like I have time to remember my timetable?”

“Tsk, whatever, did you at least remember to finish your homework for Professor Riddle?”

The man’s name had him grimacing lightly. He could just tell that the man would have something to say to him at the conclusion of the lesson. After all, Hadrian had basically told him that he had no desire to be champion, all those weeks ago. And yet here he was, holding the title.

“You do remember who you’re talking to right? Of course I did the homework. Just because I have no clue of the order of my classes does not mean I am too lazy to do the work load.”

Chapter Text

“Félicitations Madame Evans!”

Lily smiled pleasantly when the call reached her. She turned, folding a strip of pitch black hair behind her ear as the man stopped in front of her. “Merci, Julien.” She replied softly, watching as he continued to almost vibrate with enthusiasm.

“I always knew zat boy of yours was going places! You must be so proud!” Julien grinned at her, his sun-kissed skin stretching with his smile. “Ma wife and I ‘ave already started collecting the newspapers about young ‘adrian. It is about time ‘e was recognised more!”

Lily chuckled into the palm of her hand, “It was certainly a surprise to hear. Honestly, I had been hoping Hadrian would not be named.”

Julien nodded in understanding, a sympathetic light entering his clear blue eyes. “Of course. Aucune mother should ‘ave to watch her son go through such dangers. But fear not, ‘adrian is as talented as Merlin ‘imself! I ‘ave aucun doubt zat ‘e will be absolutely fine, Madame Evans.”

Lily laughed lightly, “While Hadrian is very good, I’m not so sure he is at Merlin’s level, Julien.”

The merchant shrugged and winked at her. “Will you be ‘eading to Britain, Madame Evans? To support ‘im?”

“Julien! You ungrateful swine! Leave ze young lady alone and come ‘elp me!”

Julien and Lily snapped to look at the fuming woman at the entrance of the store, hair in disarray and wand waving threateningly in the air.

“J’arrive, ma chérie!” Julien hollered back, voice teasing. He tossed one last dimpled smile at Lily, murmuring a goodbye, before trotting off back to his fiery wife.

Lily stood on the little cobblestone street, her pretty red dress flapping in the gentle breeze, and green eyes fixated on Julien and his wife. She watched as he came up behind the angered woman, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling into her neck until her fierce scowl morphed into a breathtaking smile.

The image the two painted sent a sharp jolt of longing and grief through her, and she quickly moved away before any painful memories began to plague her mind.

With a sigh, Lily disapparated from the bustling street, to the corner just around from her house. She leisurely walked down the scenic path, waving to her neighbours when they called out greetings, or shouted their congratulations at Harry’s appointment as champion.

It was only once she was safely secluded in the wards, front door closed firmly being her, that her pleasant mask melted away, replaced by a slight frown.

Lily shed the black shawl and moved into the lounge room. She draped the shawl over the back of the closest chair and took a moment to just stand there.

Even though Harry tended to be gone for most of the year, she never could quite get used to the silence. When she was younger, Lily’s home had always had someone there, whether it was her parents, or Petunia, or their aunt and uncle visiting. And at Hogwarts, there were so many people around you, you almost treasured the time you could get alone.

One inevitably got used to the noise of life around them.

Lily had always dreamed of having a large family, with three or four children constantly getting underfoot. She had thought that with James, she would get the chance to experience that life.

She disliked the silence.

She extracted her wand and pulled down the shoulder of her dress, pressing the tip to the small, pale, practically undetectable rune there. With a whisper, her dark hair turned back to brilliant red, and her green eyes dulled back to their natural forest green, rather than the almost illuminous shade of her son.

It was one of the many safety measures they had in place to protect their identities. When they had first arrived in France, Harry had been far too young for Lily to risk using disillusionment charms, or runes, on him. At his age, it could have done some permanent damage to his own magical core.

So to save her son from having to live his life under a charm, Lily, whenever she set foot outside of their home, changed her features to look more like him. With her long, messy black hair, bright green eyes, and sharper features, there was never any doubt as to whose mother she was.

It separated the chances of anyone connecting them back to the Potter family, especially if they believed that Harry predominantly got his colouring and features from her.

She closed her tired eyes in relief, running her fingers through her real hair with a small smile.

When she opened them again, they automatically landed on the newspaper sitting innocently on her coffee table – where she had left it this morning before she left to buy ingredients.

The face dominating the front page was one she was intimately familiar with. Harry’s school photo, taken late last year, stared back at her. His lips were quirked in a polite smile, his eternally difficult hair had, for once, succumbed to their wishes. Instead of resembling a bird’s nest, as it tended to, it fell in an artfully messy style, one that he had favoured since.

The article focussed primarily on Harry’s academic skills, broadcasting his scores and classes, having quotes and comments from his professors, all expressing their lack of surprise at his nomination, and their utmost confidence in his abilities.

Underneath the French newspaper, was a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Compared to the other, this article spoke of Harry’s personal life. It spoke of Harry’s lack of a father figure, his close relationship with Lily, his natural talent and his charming personality. It was so clearly twisted to show him in a positive light, that Lily had no doubt her son had had a hand in what was written.

And that photo, she did not know whether to be amused or annoyed at how cocky he looked.

Just the sight of her little boy had her feeling even more weary then before.

She left the lounge room, quickly scaling the stairs and heading to her bedroom. She unzipped her dress, letting it crumple to the floor, and set to running herself a bath. As the tub filled, Lily studied herself in the mirror.

It had been just over fifteen years, and she looked like she had barely aged.

Her eyes eventually dropped down to the scars spiralling along the side of her body, stretching from her hip to the underside of her breast. The deep red stood out against her skin angrily. But Lily did not hate the sight of it. She did not recoil.

Because to her, the scars were proof of her survival. It was undeniable proof that she had gotten away.

She had taken such a risk that night, apparating with Harry, when he had been little more than a baby. She could still remember the agony that had seared through her when she had landed in the only safe place she could think of. And of how glad she had been that it was her that had been splinched, and not her son.

Lily switched off the tap, and slipped into the warm water, releasing a soft little groan as her tense muscles began to loosen. She slid down until her nose rested just above the surface.

Her thoughts drifted back to her firecall with Harry, and with the memory, all her reservations came bubbling to the forefront of her mind.

She did not like this at all.

Things were deteriorating more than she had thought possible, and the lack of control she had over the situation was making her uneasy. She did not know what to do. But what frustrated her more was her lack of control over Harry.

Hadrian Evans was supposed to be a mask used by Harry whenever he stepped outside of their home, much like her rune. It was a persona created to shield him from scrutiny. A tool to be used to their benefit. He was their means of getting close to those they needed to further their own goals. He was useful only to ensure Harry remained hidden.

But Lily hated him.

Because Hadrian was not Harry.

Harry was her beautiful, kind-hearted and loving son. Harry was compassionate and sweet. Harry was everything to her.

Hadrian was cool where Harry was warm. He was harsh where Harry was soft. He was Dark whereas Harry was Light.

It was Harry, not Hadrian, who they needed to defeat Voldemort. It was Harry who would rise up with an army of his own supporters and finally end the man who had taken her husband from her.

She hated how she was seeing more and more of Hadrian as the years dragged on. She had known that there would be some drawbacks for Harry – having to play a part for so long, it was inevitable that at some point the two would mix. But she had never expected that Harry would…prefer to play Hadrian.

Her fingers came up and clenched at the edges of the tub.

In the last few months she had become uncomfortably aware of how different her little boy was becoming – of how much Hadrian was affecting him.

It had started small – as most things did. In the beginning of his schooling, Harry would write pages and pages of information to her, covering his entire week. Now his letters were shorter, more spaced out over the term. Not delving into as much detail, sticking strictly to his academic prowess, with only the occasional mention of his classmates.

Whenever he returned home, he took a beat longer to respond to her, as if having to remind himself that Harry was his actual name.

Whereas before, when he was younger, Harry kept no secrets from her. Now he avoided her questions with ease, distracting her with information that he knew would interest her to keep her away from topics he did not wish to talk about.

And now, there was this whole debacle with the Triwizard Tournament. When he had heard of its reinstatement, Harry should have contacted her immediately. He should not have kept the information to himself, he should not have accepted to go to Britain without her permission. He should have consulted her.

Lily liked to encourage independence in Harry, liked to have him solve his own problems. But she did not like how readily he moved around her. He was reckless, and this just proved it.

They could have come up with an alternative plan to avoid him leaving France at all. She could have falsified a medical issue that would have exempted him from being able to participate. It would have hurt his reputation, yes, but not irreparably so.

But instead of thinking, he dove in head-first.

Perhaps she would have found it endearing – that lack of regard was one of the things she adored about James – if Harry had not placed himself in unbelievable danger. Being at Hogwarts, being at the centre of Voldemort’s web, was foolish.

Harry might think he understood the risks, but he was a child, and he had no idea of the horrors that the Dark Lord was capable of. Lily had lived through Voldemort’s rise. She had witnessed the lengths the monster was willing to go to, to ensure his own power.

And her child was the one, key threat to his reign.

Harry was not indestructible. He was skilled – incredibly so – but he was as mortal as the rest of them.

If Voldemort discovered him…if Harry even slipped once, then everything they had been working for would be pointless.

The situation would have been salvageable, if Harry had not been named champion. He could have passed by relatively unnoticed, and returned to her unscathed.

But he had failed, someone or something had foiled his efforts. And now he was directly in the spotlight, where anyone with even the slightest bit of interest could dig.

It scared her, how delicately everything was balanced right now.

And while Harry was right – about being champion and the veil of protection that granted him, particularly in regards to Voldemort – that did not mean that he was in any way safe. The tasks themselves were designed by nature to be deadly.

Voldemort might not even have to make an attempt on his life. All it would take is one second. One moment of inattention, and Harry would perish like so many champions before him.

Lily was not about to stand back and allow her child to risk his life without someone being there to watch over him.

Her green eyes slid open, ducking off to the side where she could see passed the open door into her bedroom. On her desk sat a folded letter, welcoming her to join the French politician party that would be departing for Britain in the next week, in order to witness the first task.

Lily sat up, water cascading down her shoulders. She had some packing to do.

After fifteen years, Lily was going home.

OoO

Hadrian waved Raina on after the class concluded. He had caught Riddle’s eye earlier during the lesson, and he knew the man wanted to speak to him. It was a conversation he was both dreading and anticipating.

Other than Jacob, Riddle was the only one in the whole castle that knew that Hadrian had tried to avoid being champion, and for whatever reason, the man had kept that fact a secret.

Hadrian waited until most of the students had left before he started to walk to the front. He had packed his stationary away, but left his bag on his desk.

He passed Hermione, giving her a quick smile when she raised an eyebrow in question. Her big brown eyes darted between him and Riddle, a strange expression flitting over her face. He had not had much of a chance to talk with the girl the last few days, if only because he had been swept up with being appointed champion, and all the subsequent things that came with the title.

He leaned against a desk in the front row, crossing his arms and ankles to get comfortable as he waited for Riddle to finish whatever he was writing.

Hadrian let his eyes roam over the classroom in boredom, taking in the displays on the walls, the diagrams and specimen. It was quite like how he would set out a classroom, if he were a teacher.

In a glass container, a grindylow stared at him intently, its ugly little face twisting and snarling, snapping its teeth in an attempt to appear ferocious. Hadrian watched it, entirely unimpressed. In a large body of water, he might be a tad more wary about the disgusting looking water demon. But as it was, alone and trapped in a space that only just allowed it to stretch to its full length of 4 feet, he had nothing to worry about.

Riddle had stopped writing.

Hadrian rolled his head back to look at the professor, only to find those steely eyes already locked onto him. Riddle’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“I believe congratulations are in order.”

He rolled his eyes at the amusement in the man’s tone. “Indeed. I think I was the only person actually surprised at my name being called.”

“You handled your reaction well,” the man complimented easily, “one would not have known you were surprised unless they knew you had tried to avoid it.”

Hadrian hummed, tilting his head. “I did not see you at the ceremony.”

Riddle smiled at him, “You wouldn’t have. I arrived later, and stayed out of sight to avoid disrupting the event.”

The younger narrowed his eyes a little, searching for any lie. “Are you disappointed?” The professor asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Hadrian shrugged, “Initially?” He grinned sharply, “I was fucking pissed, but I’m nothing if not an opportunist. Once I had…hmm, calmed down, I was fine.”

The man tossed something onto the desk, and Hadrian did not even have to glance at it to know it was the article about him. “I am impressed with how effortlessly you appeared to have tamed Ms. Skeeter.” Something much like appreciation lit the man’s eyes. “She is…notoriously difficult to have an interview with.”

“Speaking from experience, sir?”

Riddle cocked an eyebrow, but did not reply. Hadrian almost snickered at the thought of Skeeter and Riddle in a room together. He doubted a man like Riddle would be able to handle her presence for too long.

“The lovely Ms. Skeeter and I came to an understanding, after a nice little chat.” He offered up, grin borderline insolent. Riddle’s eyes sparked with interest.

“Oh? Do tell.”

Hadrian leaned further back on the desk, uncrossing his arms and placing them on the edge to hold more of his weight. “I merely explained to her the benefits of cooperating with me. Why it would be in her best interests.”

“Blackmail? How scandalous.” There was a lick of sarcasm in the man’s words.

“Not blackmail, sir.” Hadrian ducked his head, looking up at the man from under his fringe. “That would be frowned upon. Besides,” he smirked. “I have more class.”

“Of that, I have no doubt, Mr. Evans.” Riddle reclined more comfortably in his chair – if that were even possible in the horrible wooden thing. “Tell me, how goes your research into the first task? I’m interested to see how much progress you’ve made.”

Hadrian blinked, “It’s barely been two days, sir.”

“And one would think that you would utilise every available second to gather information to improve your own odds.” That sounded far too much like a rebuke for his liking. Hadrian felt a scowl pulling at his brows at the arrogance.

He did not bother replying, Riddle was not entitled to anything from him. “Why would you care, if I may ask, how I’m going about my preparations? Last time I checked, sir, you were from Britain. Shouldn’t you be running after Draco?”

“Mr. Malfoy is the son of the British Minister. If you think he is not already receiving all the help he could possibly need, then you are more naïve then I first thought.”

Hadrian snorted, because while he might be a lot of things – naïve had never been one of them. “So? That does not justify your question. For all I know, any information I give to you will just be relayed back to Draco, to give him an idea of how prepared his opponent is.”

“A credible assessment, though you have missed, what is perhaps the most critical point.”

Enlighten me.

“You are far more interesting to me than Mr. Malfoy or Ms. Kaiser.”

The words threw him for a loop, and Hadrian looked down to study the floor. In all the time he had known Riddle, the man had been generous with his compliments. In every lesson, he never failed to make his students feel like they were appreciated, and he especially gave praise to those he thought deserved it.

Hadrian had known since their first lesson together that Riddle found him interesting. He had known that the man found him amusing and fun to speak with, and over the course of the last few weeks, he had enjoyed testing him. He had known all of this. He had just never really considered how deeply Riddle’s interest in him ran.

Hadrian glanced up.

“What’s in it for me?” He asked neutrally. In many ways, he felt like he was going about a business deal.

Riddle’s face was carefully blank. “Depending on how much progress you’ve made – a clue as to what the first task is.”

Well, then.

“What guarantee do I have that this clue will be reliable? And not just an attempt at misdirection?”

The man inclined his head. “I should clarify. When I stated that I found you to be the most interesting, I meant that I would very much like to see you live through the tournament. You are one of the few of your generation I have seen that has the potential to go on to do great things. It would be a shame, for everyone I believe, if you were to die before you had the chance to graduate.”

“And giving me false information would be counterproductive to your goal of what – nurturing my potential?”

Riddle spread his hands, “I am a teacher above all else, Mr. Evans. It is in my nature to help others grow and develop their skills. I see something in you that is worthy of surviving.”

Hadrian rocked back on his hands, thinking over the man’s words.

It would be very beneficial to have the man on his side. Riddle would have insider information about all of the tasks, and while Hadrian knew the man would not necessarily just hand him the information – hell, he knew the man would make him work for it – it could still be a good thing.

“And what’s in it for you? I’m not a fool, sir. I know there is more to your offer than keeping me alive.”

Riddle shrugged, the move oddly unrefined for the usually sophisticated man. “That’s for me to know.”

He scoffed, “Seriously?”

The professor merely smiled at him.

He cocked his head to the side. Did it really matter to him, what Riddle thought he would get out of this? So far this was all very theoretical. They had made no vow, no oath. Hadrian always had the option of refusing if Riddle asked something of him.

He wondered what else the man could possibly gain from keeping him alive. Hadrian might be good friends with a majority of the French pureblood heirs, but that did not grant him anything - yet - and he had no family connections of his own.

Unless…

His thoughts jumped back to the assumption he had made weeks earlier, of Riddle’s likely-Death Eater status.

Recruitment.

Was it possible? If Riddle was involved with Voldemort’s regime, being a teacher placed him in a prime position to scope future candidates for his master. The idea was full of irony, that one of Voldemort’s men would want to recruit the child destined to destroy the man himself.

It was a loose theory at best, but it niggled in his mind.

If Riddle was going to give him a clue to the first task, Hadrian was willing to play.

“Most of my classmates have contacted their families, trying to catch an idea of what the first task could be. Raina-” Riddle nodded to show he remembered the girl, “-her father sent a trunk of documents pertaining to all the previous Triwizard Tournaments. We have been looking through them, and compiling a list of the most likely challenges.”

“And?”

He shrugged lightly, “There are several possibilities. However, I am of the belief that it will be a creature-based task.”

Riddle’s lips curled, pleased. “What led you to that conclusion?”

“Dating back to one of the first recorded instances, eighty percent of the time, the first task involved a creature. The tournament has been stopped for over two hundred years. I think they would like to kick this off with a bang. What could be better than watching a student face off against a dangerous creature?”

“Very good,” Riddle steepled his fingers. His glasses had slipped down his nose, but he made no effort to push them back into place. “and right on the mark.”

So it is a creature-based task. Fantastic.

“Have I earned my clue?” The sarcasm in his tone was a little too sharp, and an odd gleam came to Riddle’s eyes, which quickly darted up and down his body.

“1296.”

“Informative.”

“Careful, I would almost think you were disrespectful with how flippant you are being with your attitude.”

That was true. He had grown far too comfortable with Riddle over the weeks, that he had started to expect the man to be more lenient with him. That had to stop. Riddle might be willing to help him, but he was not an ally. Not until he proved himself.

“My apologies, sir.” He dipped his head, accepting the chastisement.

Riddle, satisfied with his apology, waved it away. “I suggest you take a look at trials that occurred in Britain in the year 1296. They will lead you to what you wish to know.”

Hadrian chewed on his lip. There would be hundreds of trials that occurred during that year alone, and that is if the records were correctly kept and maintained. Seven hundred years was a long time for things to go missing after all.

“Thank you, Professor. I will most certainly look into it.”

“Come back to me when you have your answer. I would enjoy seeing your reaction.”

And that did not bode well for him at all. Neither did the chilling smile the man graced him with as he slipped out of the classroom.

Two hours later, he sat down heavily in his room, scrubbing his hands through his hair and over his face. His mind still processing his conversation with Riddle.

There was a storm of ideas and suspicions and emotions raging inside him. Questions over Riddle’s motivations, what he wanted and why. Anxiety over the unknown dangers he was going to face. And between those two warring things was a spring of tentative hope that maybe there was someone who could help him.

Hadrian sighed, drawing his eyes over the stack of books, scrolls and loose sheets of parchment in front of him. After their talk, he had all but pillaged the Hogwarts library for any and all information regarding 1296. The pile he had collected was not comforting – he had been right, there had been hundreds of trials – but if Riddle’s clue helped at all, then skipping his afternoon classes would be worth it.

He was far enough ahead in them that missing one or two lessons would not hinder him. Besides, Madame Maxime would undoubtedly cover for him, since this was relevant to the tournament. And he knew his classmates would gather whatever homework they were assigned and pass it on to him.

He grabbed the closest book and readied his wand. This was a simple locator spell, to save one having to read through each page separately. It would make the word he was thinking of glow.

“Illuminet verbum creature.” He tapped the front cover and waited for the tell-tale flash that signified the spell was complete. Flicking through the pages showed only a few instances of the word.

With a groan, he settled in.

OoO

It was almost midnight, and his breath fogged in the freezing air.

The figure rubbed his hands together to get some warmth, cursing the fact that he could not use a heating charm, lest he alert anyone to what he was doing.

He hovered just in the fringe of the Forbidden Forest, letting the ominous shadows of the trees hide him from view.

Everything had gone to shit, and he needed advice.

This was not supposed to happened. Harry was not supposed to be champion.

He plucked from his pocket, a smooth mirror and held it to his face.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”

He waited for the spell to work. In a matter of moments, a familiar face appeared before him. “Padfoot, are you secure?”

He huffed, “Of course, you think I’d be stupid enough to do this where someone could find me?”

His friend raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever Moony, we don’t have time for this. Is he there?”

“No, he had to move to go attend to a matter at one of our other hideouts. Why, Sirius? What’s happened?”

“You don’t know? You haven’t seen the Prophet?” Sirius frowned down at his friend.

“In case you forgot, we’re not exactly in touch with society these days. Our news updates are always about three days slow.”

“Ah, right.” He cleared his throat, debating how to reveal the latest occurrence to Remus. “Well, there’s no point drawing this out. You’ll find out sooner or later.”

“What happened?”

“He was nominated. Harry’s the Beauxbatons champion.”

“What!” Remus hissed, “What do you mean he’s the champion! I thought you were there to make sure he couldn’t be nominated!”

“I did!” Sirius protested. “I did the spell exactly as he told me to. I used that vial of Harry’s blood. There’s no way the goblet should have accepted any nomination from him. It would have been automatically considered void. I don’t know what happened!”

Remus narrowed his eyes, a glint of amber visible in them. Unbidden, Sirius’ eyes swung up to the sky. It was nearing the full moon.

“Something must have gone wrong with the spell, then. Maybe there wasn’t enough blood, or the goblet just didn’t let the magic affect it.”

“Blood rituals are finicky at the best of times, trust me, I’d know. I did the spell correctly, but like you said, maybe the goblet just didn’t take it? It is pretty ancient. Who knows what type of enchantments it has in place.”

Remus hummed. “We can discuss that at a later time. It’s not important. What is important is helping Harry. If he’s champion, then he is in a lot of danger.”

“I’ve been trying to snoop around and figure out what the first task is, but you know what politicians are like – bunch of close-mouthed bastards, the lot of them. I can’t get anything out of them, other than the general consensus that it’s something to do with a Dark creature.”

“That narrows it down.” Hearing that weary humour brought a short smile to his face.

“I’m keeping an ear out, but there’s only so much I can do without someone getting suspicious. And I won’t be of any help, to Harry or the Order if I’m captured.”

“I know, Padfoot. I know.”

They paused, thoughts spinning. And then.

“Sirius. What…What’s he like?”

Sirius felt his throat tighten. “I’ve only spoken to him a few times, Moony. But he’s…he’s a good kid.” He ran over all the small observations he had made about his godson in their brief encounters.

“Cocky, but from what I’ve heard, rightly so. He’s been wiping the floor with all his classes left and right. Heard he was the top of Beauxbatons. He’s pretty quick as well, from what I’ve seen, and he’s got a mouth on him. Seems to think that just because he swears in French, no one understands him.”

Sirius chuckled. Thinking of the few moments he had passed the other in the hallways, listening with his limited French skills, to hear some pretty inventive curses come from the squirt. It was almost amusing, especially because it mirrored Lily to a frightening degree.

“Got a good lot of friends. All of them look out for him, and I’m pretty sure most of them had a plan of action for if he was their champion. They are…scarily efficient when it comes to keeping people away from him. Especially those girls.”

Just the thought of those two spunky firecrackers had him grinning. It was absolutely true. Harry’s friends were one of a kind, and he hoped to high heaven that the kid knew that as well.

Sirius understood better than anyone, the value of friendship.

“Have you found out anything about – Lily?”

He snorted, thinking back to the article. “Most of Britain knows about his personal life thanks to that bloody Skeeter. His mother is very limited magic-wise apparently, and they made most of their money through selling potions. Not much about his pre-Beauxbatons life though. If he’s one thing, it’s smart. He only gave her enough information to appease the general questions.”

“What else would you expect from her son?...Do you think she will come?”

And that was the question, was it not? Would Lily return to Britain to help her son through the tournament, or would she remain in France, where she was definitely safer.

Sirius liked to think she would let nothing stand between her and her child, but at the same time, he could hardly claim to know the woman anymore.

It had been so long since they had seen each other. So much had happened between then and now. They would have both changed.

He had wondered for so long why Lily had fled the country at all. Why had she not apparated to the nearest headquarters, where they could have helped her? They were questions he would likely never have the answers to. Not unless he had the chance to sit her down and ask her to her face.

“I honestly don’t know Moony. The Lily we knew; she’d be here in a heartbeat. But…”

“Yeah.”

The silence between them grew heavy.

“Whether she comes or not, Harry is our priority. We need to do whatever we can to make sure that he stays safe. Even without the tournament, he’s in enough danger as it is. With You-Know-Who lurking around Hogwarts, I’m surprised that he hasn’t been found out already.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remus,” Sirius levelled him with a stare. “he looks exactly like James. How the hell no one has picked up on it yet is beyond me.”

“He does?” His friend sounded ridiculously pleased with that, but his words were tinged with longing. Sirius could understand that. It was so hard to stop himself from calling him ‘James’. Only the knowledge that the result would be disastrous, for both of them, stayed his tongue.

“And well, it has been fifteen years Sirius.”

I know. And I have felt every single second of those years.

OoO

Almost a week had passed. Even with the spell, it was extremely tedious to comb through each trial that had involved a creature throughout the entire year.

People back then were even more prejudice then they were now – if that was possible – and there were quite a lot of occasions when a magical creature had gotten caught in the crossfire. It, honestly, made him a little sick.

His classmates, recognising the signs, had grown distant from him. They knew that when he got like this, it was best to leave him be and not disturb him. The only people who dared to approach him anymore were Raina – who had to bodily drag him away from his research to force him to eat – and, surprisingly, Albert.

The other boy had not even asked to help, he had simply walked into Hadrian’s room and begun searching through the books with him. It was nice, to have someone sitting with him, providing just a solid company without the inane chatter.

He was also useful to bounce ideas off of. It was nice to have someone new. Hadrian was already intimately familiar with how his closest friends’ minds worked. Albert had always been on the fringes, meaning Hadrian had not had the chance to studying him as much; and that meant he had a fresh perspective on things.

A fact he exploited greatly.

It was good as well, because Albert provided him with the reminder to sleep. Too often, Hadrian had worked himself into such a state where he forewent sleep in an effort to reach his goal faster. It was a horrible trait that he had unfortunately cultivated over the years.

He always eventually returned to his normal sleeping patterns, but these restless times had the unfortunate side-effect of affecting his processing abilities.

Currently, he was functioning on a completely inadequate amount of sleep.

It was just so hard, to put his research down, when he felt that he was on the verge of something. Not even Claire or Raina could coax him away at this point.

There was an energy building in him, something that kept him going despite everything telling him to rest.

It was worth it though, when he finally came across the answer he had been looking for.

In 1296, a certain creature had attacked a wizard, mauling him beyond recognition. It only escaped trial because it was too dangerous to be captured.

Hadrian knew, he knew, that this was what Riddle had been talking about.

The thought of the professor sparked his memory of the man’s request.

“Come back to me when you have your answer. I would enjoy seeing your reaction.”

Hadrian snapped his book closed, startling Albert, who had been dozing next to him.

“‘adrian?” The boy groaned, pushing himself up. “Where are you going?” Albert was rubbing his eyes.

Hadrian shushed him, “It’s alright Albert, I have just got to go see one of the professors.”

“It is almost two!”

“It will be fine.” Hadrian shrugged on his blazer, flicking a sleeping charm over his shoulder, towards the other. He heard Albert slump against the bed as he let himself out of his room.

Blinking rapidly to keep himself awake, Hadrian made his way across the grounds and slipped into Hogwarts.

It was well passed curfew, but he paid no heed to the time. Riddle had asked to see him when he figured it out, and so to Riddle he was going.

He made his way to the defence classroom, knowing that Riddle’s office was joined to the back of the room.

Hadrian scaled the steps tiredly, smirking when he saw there was still light coming from within the man’s room.

He knocked on the office door, waiting patiently.

It took a few moments, but the door cracked open. Riddle blinked down at him, as if confused. Hadrian wasted no time in pushing passed the man and entering his office.

He looked around curiously, having never been inside here before.

“Mr. Evans. Is there a reason for your unscheduled visit?” Even though he asked, Hadrian could pick up on the anticipation there.

He spun to face the man.

“Yeah. I’m going to be fighting a manticore.”

Chapter Text

Impertinent child.

He did not know whether to be amused, or insulted by the boy barging in here at such an early hour, all signs of social grace abandoned. He had killed people for far less.

Evans was lucky that he was as interesting as he was, and that it would be rather suspicious if one of the champions disappeared before the tasks even began.

Lack of common decency aside, he knew immediately why the boy was here. It had been several days since he had kindly pointed him in the right direction, and they had not spoken in depth since that afternoon.

Having Evans here, in front of him, could only mean one thing. He asked anyway, because a part of him still felt slighted at the disrespect.

Hearing the word 'manticore' fall from the champion's lips erased any lingering annoyance at the unplanned interruption. It was replaced with a sense of deep satisfaction that burned in his chest.

Wordlessly, Voldemort closed the office door.

"Well done, Mr. Evans. I had heard a rumour that you had raided our humble library recently. I do hope the materials you took survived your research."

As if the child would dare. It had only been a handful of weeks, and he already knew Evans had a strong respect for knowledge. He would treat every book he touched with its due reverence. Normally, he would not have bothered asking, but seeing the current shape of the boy made him doubt.

It was almost shocking, to find Evans in such a dishevelled state. The student he was used to seeing was always groomed impeccably. His uniform pressed and freshly cleaned, his hair tussled neatly, and his posture straight.

This child in front of him looked nothing like that.

His dark hair was appallingly messy, falling haphazardly over his head, and there were circles beginning to form under his bright eyes. His crisp white shirt was completely wrinkled, the top two buttons undone, and his tie was missing. One of the lapels of his blazer was sticking up, and he was slouching noticeably.

He looked atrocious.

And yet, there was something absolutely fascinating about seeing this side of Evans, as if this were an unintended peek into the enigmatic boy.

There was something else, as well. Some subtle difference to the air surrounding the boy.

Evans flapped a hand at him, the move holding hardly any of the usual elegance. "Everything will be returned in the condition I found it in, as I assured the ancient-looking librarian when I borrowed them."

He blinked at the crude description of Madam Pince, no matter how accurate it was.

"That doesn't matter. I'm going to be fighting a manticore."

"So you have said."

Twin green eyes slid from his bookshelf to him, narrowed. "A manticore." He stressed, much to Voldemort's amusement. "As is one of the most dangerous creatures to exist in our world. As in a creature that is impervious to all known charms, and has genius-level intellect. As in, one sting and I die."

The boy raised his eyebrows at him, pointedly. "Who the fuck thought fighting a manticore was a good idea?"

I did. He thought in secret pleasure. "The Dark Lord, I imagine."

Evans scoffed, eyes rolling insolently. His face melted into that carefully disdainful expression it always did when his title was mentioned. It had always intrigued him, that reaction. Once he had noticed it, he made a point to watch the boy whenever the topic came up. While Evans was usually able to hide it better, he was always able to catch a glimmer of it in his eyes.

He wondered just what he had done to nurture such scorn in Evans.

"Well, you can go and tell him to fuck himself."

Voldemort very carefully kept his breathing even, though he was taken aback at the gall of the boy. It was true, that Evans had occasionally flirted with insults when they spoke of his other role, but he had never heard the boy outright say something so damning.

"I somehow doubt that would lead to anything good, Mr. Evans."

Just what was wrong with the boy?

Voldemort studied the child closely, trying to pinpoint the reason for this sharp change in behaviour.

Evans hummed in agreement. "Right you are, sir. But honestly, a manticore? I can count on one hand how many accounts there are of a magical defeating one, and still have four fingers remaining."

That was true.

Due to their resistance to all known spells, manticores were notoriously difficult to subdue, let alone kill.

The only known instance where one was killed is more a myth than an actual recorded event. A young witch, living in Archaic Greece, had managed to trick the beast into a chasm and pinned it with an avalanche. The manticore ended up drowning in the river at the bottom, unable to escape the watery death trap.

There was no way to confirm the story, of course, and no one was particularly keen on trying to recreate the described events.

Voldemort watched as Evans walked towards his bookshelf, one hand poised as if to touch the spines, but hovering just an inch away from surfaces. "Just because there are no accurate recounts does not mean that there is no way to do it."

"I would feel more confident fighting a dragon." The boy drawled, briefly glancing back at him from over his shoulder. "Tell me, what breed is it? I know you know."

Voldemort turned to his cabinet, opening it and pulling out a bottle of scotch. He unscrewed the cap, taking two glasses down and debating whether he should tell the child anything more than he already had.

He poured three fingers in each.

"Its sting will not kill you immediately." Was all he said.

Behind him, Evans was silent. Then, quietly, "Fantastic." The bitterness in his voice prompted a small, genuine smile to grace his face. By the time he had turned to face the boy, the expression was gone.

He offered the drink out, wondering if Evans would even take it. Everything he knew about the student told him he was naturally cautious, but also quite self-assured. It was an interesting contradiction. Being so wary with others, yet confident enough to act brashly on occasion.

To his surprise, Evans stepped towards him and accepted the glass without any hint of hesitation. The child studied the amber liquor with a twinge of longing in his expressive eyes. "Please tell me you poisoned this, so I do not have to compete."

The comment caused a snort to break free of him. "Have you so little faith in your own abilities that you would prefer to die beforehand?"

Evans' gaze switched from the liquid to him, intense and heavy, as always. "I am perfectly aware of my own abilities, sir. But a result of that, is that I am also perfectly aware of my limitations. If I fought a manticore, I might survive. Or I might not."

The student turned away from him, drifting around the office, eyes scanning without seeing anything. "It all depends on where I am fighting it, what my surroundings are, what special abilities it holds, how quickly I can react. You said a sting would not kill me immediately, but it is still venomous and I imagine it would have some...interesting effects on me."

Evans snapped back to look at him. "I am fast, I have high stamina, and I am strategic. But a manticore still outmatches me in every regard. The only way I could possibly beat one, is if I can use my environment to my advantage. The longer the fight drags on, the more chance I have of making a mistake, and of getting hit."

He took a sip of his drink, green eyes staring at him from over the rim. "I cannot say the idea of fighting such a creature while injected with its venom appeals to me. I have faith in my abilities, sir. Its everything else that concerns me. So," the boy grinned at him, the expression transforming his face into something disarmingly young. "I ask again - is it poisoned?"

Voldemort shook his head, amused at Evans' attitude, morbid as it was. He had been around far too long to be bothered by such remarks anyway.

For a minute, the two simply stood in companionable silence, nursing their drinks. Voldemort watched the child closely, taking in the sight of him - rumpled as he was - in a much more familiar setting then they had experienced before.

"What is that?"

He blinked and followed the small jerk of Evans' chin to the corner of his office, near the fireplace.

"That would be Nagini."

Evans stared blankly at his familiar, coiled happily in front of the flickering flames. Nothing in the boy's face gave away his thoughts on her presence, which was mildly surprising considering he had been so flippant with his emotions since he had entered here.

Voldemort tilted his head, observing the child as he continued to stare at the magnificent gleaming body of the snake. "Female?" He nodded once, and Evans hummed. "She's beautiful, though I am surprised they let such a dangerous breed inside a school full of children. Are you not concerned that she will attack?"

"She would never disobey a direct order from the Dark Lord."

The child rocked back on his heels, "She is the Dark Lord's? Why is she with you then?"

He smirked as he took another sip, "The dungeons, where the Dark Lord typically stays, are far too cold for her. She enjoys the upper levels because they are warm, and she is known to occasionally spend the night with different professors because we use our fireplaces to heat our rooms. Tonight she joined me here."

"He must have a great deal of trust that no one would injure her then."

"It has nothing to do with trust, Mr. Evans." He purred, "No one would be foolish enough to harm her, because they know the retribution would be swift and deadly. The Dark Lord is not a forgiving man."

His words caused something dark to flick through the boy's eyes. "No, I imagine he wouldn't be."

How curious.

"You do not seem to like the Dark Lord."

Instead of panic, or even unease, as most might feel when being confronted so openly; Evans merely shrugged. "I do not know him well enough to form any solid opinion on him."

A budding politician. Quaint.

"But you do not agree with some of his policies."

"I do not live in Britain, professor. I have not had the opportunity to really see the effect that he has had during his reign. I have discovered bits and pieces, naturally, but I am reserving my judgement for now."

There. Evans' eyes flickered slightly to the left. The move was fleeting and would have been impossible to detect had he not been looking for it. It was a lie. Evans had already formed his opinion, but was refraining from voicing it.

Which could only mean that it was a view the boy believed he would disagree with. His intrigue grew. He wished to know exactly what this student thought of his changes. "What policies bother you so?"

"I never said anything bothered me, sir."

"We both know something does. As you said, you do not live in Britain. Perhaps some of the information you acquired was...unfortunately worded, and gave the wrong impression." That was clearly the wrong thing to say, as anger - bright and fierce - flared in those lovely green eyes.

"And I suppose you would be perfectly capable of clearing up those misconceptions then? Do you take me for a fool, professor? That I would not be able to see through your pretty words, and let them influence me so easily?"

"I meant no offence, Mr. Evans. I apologise if I gave the impression that I doubted your perceptive abilities. I was merely suggesting that some of the people you spoke with might have allowed their own personal beliefs to colour the information they gave you."

He could see that the boy did not fully believe him, but he had calmed down. "Would you like to discuss the policies with someone who actually has a working knowledge of them?"

"Not particularly."

Voldemort leaned back, eyes shrewd. "I remember you mentioning the muggleborn initiative in our first meeting. You seemed to have some concerns about it."

The boy's eyes met his defiantly, and heat pooled in his gut. It had been such a long time since anyone had looked at him so heatedly. "I have a problem with entire generations of children being kidnapped from their families and raised to be simple breeding tools from purebloods."

"Breeding tools? Why, Mr. Evans you misunderstand. Muggleborns are relocated to the Wizarding World at a young age so that they might be better prepared for their schooling. In my time, muggleborns were much like lost lambs once they received their Hogwarts letters. It took years, longer for some, to acquaint themselves with ideas and notions that were ordinary in our world."

"And if they just so happen to have children with a pureblood, effectively saving entire families from being eradicated due to their own bigotry, then that is merely a benefit, yes?"

His smile was a sharp as his words. "A lucky coincidence."

Evans scoffed lightly, "You are not doing anything to dissuade me from my forming opinions, sir. If anything, you are proving them faster."

"Very well, consider this. Every day the muggle world develops further with their technology. Eventually, we would be discovered. Whether through a child having a bout of unfortunate accidental magic in the presence of others, or through one of us being caught preforming spells to - say, protect a loved one from danger. The knowledge of our existence would cause mass-panic through the world, as muggles everywhere began to try and understand us."

Evans had settled back down, his feathers no longer ruffled.

"Manhunts would ensue, conflict would be inevitable, and in their quest to understand, muggles would destroy. It is in their nature to tear apart that which they cannot comprehend. Thousands of witches and wizards would fall into their clutches and suffer due to their ignorance."

Voldemort spread his hands beseechingly. "By relocating muggleborns well before they begin to exhibit accidental magic, we have greatly reduced the risk of our world being discovered and our very livelihoods being corrupted. It is a measure to protect an entire civilisation from harm. Can you not see the logic behind such a move?"

"You are generalising an entire people, based on hypothetical scenarios. One thing I have learned is that people can react in the way you least expect them too."

"They can also react in a way that is entirely predictable if you understand their nature well enough. Our past with muggles hardly encourages interacting with them."

"And one could argue that our past is still our present."

They paused, both acknowledging that the other would not be swayed. Voldemort felt something similar to frustration trickle through him at Evans' inability to understand, but at the same time, debating such a topic with him was invigorating.

It had been so very long since he had had anyone who dared to challenge him; and while the face he was wearing might not be that of the Dark Lord, it was the idea that this child had no qualms disagreeing with him that stroked his interest.

He had not even realised how much he had missed having someone pitted against him until Evans had come along. He was young, and somewhat rough around the edges, but in time, Voldemort saw him becoming someone actually worth playing with.

"Perhaps such a conversation would be better to have when it is not well past midnight?" It was a graceful way to put an end to their current topic without either having to sacrifice anything. Evans nodded stiffly, blinking heavily as he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

The boy grimaced lightly at the burn, placing the glass on the closest available surface. "Agreed, sir. I am sorry for intruding, I-" Evans looked down to the ground, his cheeks dusted with pink in his embarrassment. "I have not slept in the last few days."

Voldemort frowned lightly, finally having an answer as to what had been bothering him about the boy. He had seen the circles under his eyes, and the slouching, and had certainly noted the lack of tact the child had been displaying. But it had not truly clicked.

Evans was exhausted.

"I mean, I have slept, but only for brief periods and not often enough for it to be good for me. It is affecting my attitude, and I apologise."

"Are you an insomniac, Mr. Evans?"

Those bright eyes snapped up to him. "W-No. Not exactly. I only have trouble sleeping when there's something I need to complete."

The boy's hand came up and began rubbing against the bracelet on his wrist. Voldemort's eyes dropped down to watch those pale fingers trace over the Parselscript runes. Evans did not even seem aware of his actions.

"I had to finish researching your clue. It was," he sighed deeply, "bothering me, keeping me awake. I could not afford to sleep because I had to figure it out."

Ah. It made perfect sense, as he himself experienced the same problem in his youth. "It is understandable, Mr. Evans. For people such as us, it can be difficult to switch our minds off at times -especially when there is something we believe we must finish."

"I should know better by this point," Evans smiled tiredly at him, face strangely open. "when I do not sleep I can get a little-" He gave a small, unspecific jerk of his hand, and somehow, it explained it perfectly.

"I should have caught on earlier." he stated, and really, it was embarrassing that he had not recognised the signs. Especially since Evans' speech had most certainly been hard to follow.

"You could not have known."

"You have been fluctuating between French and English for the entirety of our conversation Mr. Evans."

Evans' face flushed again, the expression delightful to witness. The boy cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right." He looked like a normal teenager in his embarrassment, and Voldemort revelled in the slip.

"Thank you for humouring me, professor. But it is terribly early, and I should probably head back to the carriage now."

"Nonsense," he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, "you are in no state to navigate your way through the castle, it is a miracle you made it here in one piece. And at this time, if you were found, you would only be punished for breaking curfew."

He pointed to a door on the far side of the office. "Through there is a bedroom, you may rest there for tonight. In the morning, you can head back to your carriage without risking running into one of the patrols and potentially invoking someone's ire."

The child snorted, face becoming purely amused as he said, "Trying to get me into bed, sir?" The second he finished, his mouth clinked shut, and his eyes closed in barely concealed horror.

Voldemort chuckled, unable to hold the noise back in the face of such inappropriate humour. It seemed Evans was even more exhausted then he had originally thought. The boy's quick comments during their conversation had led him to believe he was in the right state.

"Come along, Mr. Evans."

He guided the boy to the room, opening the door and stepping back to let him examine the space. It was simply decorated, but the bed was of high quality and would undoubtedly be appreciated by the student.

Evans sat on the bed and gazed up at him silently. "Thank you, professor."

He nodded, "Pleasant dreams, Mr. Evans."

A smile - he would call it shy if he did not know the boy as well as he did - graced Evans' face. "I prefer Hadrian, sir."

It was a subtle permission, and one he seized eagerly. "Pleasant dreams, Hadrian."

The boy did not move to lay down until he closed the door. Voldemort turned away, breathing deeply as he moved back towards his desk. When he passed the fireplace, Nagini popped her head up and blinked lazily at him.

"You have a child in your bed." She hissed, voice silken and familiar as she slithered after him. Voldemort absently reached out a hand for her to climb onto.

"So I do. Do not touch him." He was not worried about Eva - Hadrian hearing him. The wards around his office prevented any noise from escaping, effectively cutting off any sound to the bedroom where the boy now resided.

Nagini hissed laughingly in his ear as she curled her enormous body around him. "He is pretty, master. You allowed him inside, you spoke to him without breaking him for his insolence, you gave him your bed."

He brushed his hand lovingly over her smooth scales, lips twitching in amusement at her insinuations. He had always enjoyed his conversations with Nagini, finding her far more engaging then most humans. "He interests me."

"You like him." She insisted, tongue flicking out over his cheek. "Why not mark him?"

The thought of the Dark Mark branding Hadrian's forearm was certainly heady. The expression of pain that would definitely mar his face when it happened would be even better. His force would benefit from having someone like him with them. "I have considered it. Though these things take time, my dear."

"Why should they? You want him. You are strong. Take him."

He smirked at how simplistic she could make this. He knew that if he wanted Hadrian on his side, it would require a great deal of manipulation on his part. The boy certainly held some antagonistic emotions towards him - which he was determined to discover more about, when he had the chance - and was rooted in beliefs that seemed to conflict with his own.

He was smart too, capable of seeing through traps even exhausted as he was. To get the boy, he would have to be much subtler than he usually was, lest he give the game away too early.

His eyes bled crimson as he turned his attention down to the file in front of him. He flipped it open, rereading through the information there, and ignoring Galiana Kaiser's face staring up at him; before putting it to the side and grabbing the second.

Hadrian Evans.

This could be exciting.

OoO

She was going to kill him.

Not even his mother would recognise him when she was through with him.

Of all the days he could possibly choose to disappear on, it had to be today.

Raina marched through the empty hallways of Hogwarts, a fierce scowl marring her usually calm face. It was midday at this point, and most students would be in the Great Hall for lunch. It was where she should be, but instead she had been tasked with locating their wayward champion who apparently thought wandering off at two in the morning was a perfectly fine idea.

She glanced down at her wand, following the direction it pointed her in, her mind spinning darkly with ideas of revenge.

Madame Maxime was in a flurry - had been since Albert had reported to her that Hadrian, who was most likely sleep-deprived due to his ridiculous study habits, had taken off to 'see a professor'. They had no idea where he had gone.

It was only made worse because none of their Point Me spells had worked in locating him, not until five minutes ago at least.

She would kill him.

Raina rounded a corner, and promptly stopped short when she finally laid eyes on Hadrian just a few feet in front of her.

Her face twisted in horror at his state, never having seen him look so unkempt. One would think, that living together for a majority of the year, that she would have seen him in some form of disarray at some point. But Hadrian had always been impeccably dressed, even when he was relaxed.

The most she had seen him discard had be his tie and blazer.

"Where have you been?!"

Hadrian winced, leaning back from her outburst. "Nowhere important. Why?"

She laughed once in disbelief. But her anger quickly exploded when she saw how genuine he was being. "'Why'? 'Why'? For the love of the gods! You have been missing most of the day! We could not find you! Everyone has been losing their minds trying to!"

"Ah," he said, shifting minutely in a way that told her he was feeling at least a little guilty. "I am sorry Raina. I was...researching."

"All day?"

He frowned, waving his hand in a quick tempus. When the time sprung to life between them, his green eyes popped open in unconcealed surprise.

"Shit. I did not realise it was that late. How many classes have I missed?"

"You're worried about classes?" She hissed at him, eyes running over his shabby state. Just what had he been doing? He looked like he had just woken up.

"Yes?" He said, drawing the word out uncertainly.

She clenched her fists. "You had a meeting with the Minister this morning - which you missed. You are lucky that Madame Maxime has been able to keep her occupied while we found you. Now hurry up, so you can explain to both of them just what was more important than showing up."

Hadrian's jaw twitched, the only sign that he was frustrated at himself. The sight of it curbed her anger. She grabbed his wrist and together they began walking swiftly towards the carriage.

As they walked, she began straightening his attire, freeing his uniform from wrinkles with a few charms and tossing a well-meaning cleaning spell at him, to which he rolled his eyes.

By the time they had reached the carriage, Hadrian looked significantly less rumpled then when she had found him. His tie was still missing, but at least he no longer resembled a walking corpse.

A few of their classmates that lingered in the lounge room looked up when they entered, their faces melting into exasperated amusement as they watched Raina bustling Hadrian inside and down the hall.

Raina smoothed down her skirt and fixed her hair before she knocked. Hadrian leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, "Do not worry, you look as average as always." She elbowed him in the gut, satisfied when she caught his soft grunt of discomfort.

The door to Madame Maxime's office opened, and their towering Headmistress gazed down at them blankly. Raina and Hadrian dipped their heads in respect. The woman wordlessly opened the door wider, and Raina knew that Hadrian knew she was displeased with him.

They entered the room, and were greeted by the sight of Minister Lécuyer smiling at them from one of the chairs off to the left. Raina returned the gesture, and once again, the two of them bowed to their Minister.

Lécuyer stood and walked towards them, her eyes darting up and down Hadrian, amusement bleeding into them. "Late night, I assume Monsieur Evans?"

Hadrian, more collected than he had been when she found him, smiled impishly up at the woman. "I do not kiss and tell, Minister."

Lécuyer laughed brightly, charmed, as always, by Hadrian.

"Well, now that we have you here, we can finally begin our meeting." There was no reprimand in her tone, though Hadrian ducked his head as if there were and moved to take a seat.

"Would you like me to leave, Minister?" Raina asked politely, preparing to move back to the door. Lécuyer looked at her closely, then shook her head.

"You may stay, Raina. We are not discussing state-secrets or confidential information. Besides, your father and I have known each other for years."

Pleased, though trying not to show it, Raina moved to sit next to Hadrian. The mildly amused look on his face told her he knew what she was feeling. She narrowed her eyes at him warningly.

Minister Lécuyer and Madame Maxime both took a seat across from the two of them. There was still a tense line to their Headmistress' mouth, but with Lécuyer being so unconcerned, she could not say anything.

"Now," Lécuyer began, fixating her gaze on Hadrian. "in two days time, a group of councilmen and women will be arriving in Britain. I expect you to be there with me when I greet them, seeing as they are here to wish you luck in your upcoming trial."

He inclined his head in agreement.

"Excellent, your mother will also be among them."

Next to her, Hadrian jerked in surprise. "My...? She is - coming to Britain?"

Raina glanced at him from the corner of her eye, curious at his disbelief. Did he truly think his mother would not be here to support him during the challenges?

Lécuyer gave him a bemused smile, "Of course Monsieur Evans. It is something all previous tournaments had. It gives the champions a chance to be around their families, in the event that, well..."

"I die. Right." Hadrian was frowning down at his left hand, pensive. He still seemed - botheredconcernedannoyed? - confused at the thought that his mother was coming to Britain. Raina, for one, was looking forward to meeting Hadrian's mother for the first time.

She had, of course, seen the beautiful dark haired woman - and it was clear where Hadrian got his looks from - at the occasional academy event, but she had never had the chance to talk with her.

Hadrian did not speak too often about his mother, but when he did his eyes lit up with love and awe. Raina knew that anyone who could coax such an expression out of the boy beside her had to be someone incredible.

"Two days, you said?" The Minister smiled at him.

"That is correct. I will have to collect you relatively early, so no more gallivanting off until after, yes?"

Hadrian grinned at her, but the expression slid off of his face in the next moment. "About that, Minister. I have figured out what the first task will be."

Interest bloomed, and all three women snapped straight at his announcement. "I imagine you know little about the task itself?" He asked the woman, to which she nodded.

"The task-masters have been notoriously tight-lipped about it. I do know it is creature-based though."

"You would be correct, Minister Lécuyer. I was given a clue earlier this week by a, somewhat, trustworthy source. After researching for many days I finally managed to figure out what I will be fighting."

"And that it?"

Raina leaned towards him unconsciously.

"A manticore, Minister."

She inhaled sharply, and the two women across from them recoiled in open shock. Hadrian continued as they all processed. "I do not know the exact details of the task, but my source had no reason to lie to me. That," his cheeks flushed a little in lingering embarrassment. "was where I was last night. I was confirming my discovery."

"Who was your source?" Madame Maxime asked briskly, and Raina could understand her unwillingness to just take an unknown's information. If this person had lied to Hadrian and he spent the week before the task preparing to face the wrong creature, he would be as good as dead.

For the oddest reason, Hadrian actually hesitated, but the Minister was staring imploringly at him. "Professor Riddle." He admitted with minor reluctance.

Raina frowned even as the others began inquiring more.

Professor Riddle was an intelligent and practical man, and she had grown to greatly respect him in the short time that they had been here. He was charming and charismatic and knew his subject intimately. But he had not struck her as the type to reveal such sensitive information so readily.

Then again...

Her eyes drifted to Hadrian. She knew Riddle had a particular interest in her friend. It was all too evident during their first class together, with how he so clearly singled out Hadrian, and how he kept him back afterwards.

She did not know anything about what had occurred during their conversation, but she had been intensely aware of how, over the following weeks, the professor's eyes had continually strayed to Hadrian.

She wondered if Riddle's interest in Hadrian was strong enough that the man would willingly provide him with the means to adequately prepare himself for the upcoming task. It seemed a bit suspicious to her.

And Hadrian, he had said he had gone to Riddle when he left this morning. Which stood to reason that he had likely been there well into the day, just before she had found him. She recalled his rumpled appearance, and the way he had seemed positively cagey with her in those first few moments.

Had something happened between the two of them?

The thought made her sick. Riddle was so much older than them, and the idea that Hadrian might...

No, she thought fiercely. Hadrian would not do something like that. He is flirtatious, but he is not promiscuous. He jokes, but he rarely takes it further than that.

But still, the thought stayed in her mind and soured her mood beyond repair.

The next few minutes were a blur to her, a blending of words and promises to help, of hands grasping comfortingly at shoulders; and then the two of them were outside in the hallway.

Raina looked at Hadrian shrewdly, "You were with Riddle. Since two? What were you doing that took several hours?" She barely held back a wince at the touch of accusation in her tone, though she remembered his crack about ‘kiss and tell’. Hadrian squinted at her.

"Not whatever is on your mind, gods woman. He is, like, brushing one hundred. When I figured out the clue I headed straight to him. I wasn't really thinking right. I was tired. I went there, we spoke for a bit about - things, and then he let me sleep."

"In his office?"

Hadrian rolled his shoulders. "In a sense."

What does that even mean.

Raina tossed her head in frustration. She could never seem to get a straight answer with this boy. Hadrian bumped his shoulder against hers, eyes sparkling in a way she had not seen since he was announced champion.

"Let's find Albert. I feel like I owe him an apology for just deserting him like I did, and I could use some help coming up with a plan to beat an unbeatable creature."

She unfolded her arms, "Well, we both know you need all the help you can get. Come along, I believe I saw Albert just outside with Nathaniel. I can rope a few more into helping us as well."

Hadrian snorted in amusement as he followed her. "The Minister has all but promised me limitless resources. I guarantee that by the end of tomorrow I will have been contacted by anyone she deems remotely suitable to help me. It will certainly make things slightly easier for me."

Just as they hit the grass, Raina stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "Are you scared?" She asked plainly.

He grimaced lightly, "I would be a fool not to be. I am going to be pitted against something I have little hope of defeating. Something nobody has a chance at beating. I never wanted this, and yet here I am."

She tightened her grasp on him, trying to impart some comfort to him. "You will be get through this Hadrian. You will succeed because you always do, and besides," she smirked at him coyly. "with me on your side, there is no chance that you will fail."

It worked. His expression lightened, and his eyes rolled playfully. "Yes, how could this possibly go wrong. You are more likely to sabotage me then help me." He laughed softly, "At least then you would finally be rid of me, no?"

Hadrian spotted Albert and quickly stepped to where the boy was, with a joyful call of "Albert! So sorry about -"

Raina watched him go, lips twitching upwards. Despite the rather grave implication in their words, they both knew she would do all she could to keep him alive. Just like she knew, if the situation were reversed, Hadrian would help her prepare for each task without a thought.

The last few weeks, their relationship had smoothed out considerably. They still got on the other’s nerves, and bickered until their throats were sore, but that disconnection between them had faded.

A part of her knew it was due to Hadrian's falling out with Jacob – which she was still infinitely curious about – and that he was simply reaching out to her and Claire as a way to stabilise himself. But still, it felt nice that they had moved onto a more solid form of friendship.

She followed after him, arriving just in time to hear Albert’s disbelieving cry of “A manticore! You’re doomed!”

Chapter Text

Hadrian woke early, taking his time getting ready for the morning. He paid more attention to his appearance then he usually did, ensuring that his hair was tussled back neatly, and that his uniform was pressed and everything was in its correct place.

He was not particularly anxious about the upcoming meeting, but with the first task looming he was beginning to feel a bit of pressure. So far their research into manticores was going horribly, hitting wall after wall with information - simply because there was not any to be found.

The dismal amount of documentation about manticores was doing nothing to encourage him. So far, the most helpful slip of information he had gotten was dangerous, do not approach.

Yeah, thanks for the advice you dead bastards.

With a sigh he smoothed his hand down his tie, fingers absently playing with the end of it as he stared at his reflection.

"You look absolutely dashing." The mirror said, eyes roaming appreciatively up and down his form.

"Shut up." He ordered shortly.

In less than an hour, Minister Lécuyer would be arriving to take him to the meeting point, where he would greet a number of important council members - including, he was sure, Éric Korin.

The thought of seeing Jacob's father soured his relatively calm mood. He had no idea if Jacob had already written to the man in regards to the swift end of their friendship, and he had no desire to find out the man's reaction if that were the case.

He knew that Éric had disapproved of how much influence he had had over Jacob - considering recent events, Hadrian almost wished he had had more control over the Korin heir - and he was sure that on some level the man would be relieved that the two were no longer interacting.

On the other hand, he also knew how much Éric cared for Jacob and his wellbeing. Ever since his beloved wife had passed away three years ago, Éric had been far more attentive towards his son than the years previous. The last thing he needed right now was someone of Éric's status coming after him for hurting Jacob's feelings.

Thinking of Jacob merely added an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He was angry at the other, beyond anything he had ever experienced before; still ripped and raw from the betrayal. But a part of him missed the other boy greatly. He missed his company and the sense of security he had taken for granted.

Hadrian sometimes caught himself looking for Jacob, to murmur a joke or express an idea, only to be forcibly reminded that Jacob was not with him anymore.

His friends - Raina and Claire, and now, Albert - were good, and he enjoyed spending time with them, but it was never quite the same.

He had trusted Jacob. He had allowed the boy to see a bit more of him than he typically showed. He had given him small hints, offered him pieces of himself. And in turn, the other had broken that tentative bond Hadrian had formed.

It had hurt. A lot. So much so that he could barely handle looking at the other boy anymore.

His mother had always cautioned him against letting people get too close to him, and he had seen the logic behind her warnings. With their lives, they had only each other to lean and rely on.

Hadrian was still young though, and had been unable to refrain from reaching out to his classmates. He had not even realised how far he had fallen into his own webs, how much he had invested in his relationship with Jacob, until he had seen his name written in that horribly familiar scrawl.

He closed his eyes, slumping forward until his forehead rested against the glass surface of the mirror.

By now, the news that he would be fighting a manticore had spread to all of his school mates. He had seen Jacob's reaction to hearing what the first task was. He had seen the horror and guilt in his eyes, when he realised just what he had condemned Hadrian too.

A small section of him was viciously glad that Jacob finally got it, that he finally understood the danger he had so stupidly thrown him into. He wanted to laugh at how pitiful the other had looked afterwards, but nothing about his impending task was funny.

He wanted to forgive Jacob. He wanted to just let go and accept the other back. Gods knew he needed the support now more than ever. He just - he could not. Not right now. It was still too soon for him to even seriously contemplate offering anything more than strained acknowledgement.

"You will get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that." The mirror tsked at him. Hadrian slid his eyes open and gazed at it balefully. His reflection shrugged at him, "I'm just saying. You're too young to have wrinkles just yet, handsome."

"One day," Hadrian promised, "I am going to shatter you, and get a normal, non-talking mirror. A mirror that just does what it's meant to instead of mouthing off. Wouldn't that be nice?"

His reflection snorted, as if the mere thought of it being replaced was so laughable. "Please, sweetheart. Then who would be here to offer you advice for all your life problems?"

"In the weeks that I have had you, not once have you given me anything other than compliments on my appearance."

"To be fair, you are rather ravishing. Can't blame me for noticing." It leered at him in a way that would have been flattering if it was not his own face doing it. "And I help boost your ego in a healthy, friendly way."

Hadrian rolled his eyes at the grin it gave him. "Anyway, maybe if you did more than insult me and tell me to shut up, I would be able to give you better advice. Instead, all you do is scowl and mope around."

"I somehow doubt that an enchanted piece of glass is a fount of wisdom." He reached out and threw his blazer on, doing up one button and brushing it down to get rid of any crinkles that might have appeared.

"You'd be surprised," it said amusedly. "who are you dressing up for anyway, you don’t typically spend so much time in here. Is there a new interest in your life?" Its eyes brightened. "Oh I bet there is! So, tell me, is it a girl?"

Hadrian ignored its rambling. "You are the bane of my existence."

It hummed thoughtfully. "Boy?" He cut a sharp look at it. "Definitely a boy then." Hadrian now knew why people hated whenever he was smug, if his expression was anything like what his refection looked like. He had never thought he would have the urge to punch himself.

"I think after the last one, I can wait a while before getting tangled up in something again." Hadrian headed towards the door. He had never understood the appeal of enchanted mirrors, they were just unnecessary - and so annoying. Before he exited, he called back over his shoulder. "By the way, it's the Minister I'm 'dressing up for'."

He made his way out of his room and down the hallway, entering the lounge room and taking a seat near one of the windows. Hadrian leaned his elbow on the sill and perched his cheek on his fist, gazing out at the slowly lightening grounds of Hogwarts as his thoughts swirled.

He felt strangely detached right now. Adrift.

The closer the first task drew, the worse the feeling got. His classmates were putting ever spare moment into assisting him; all of them now looked at him with barely concealed worry, as it became more and more apparent that defeating a manticore was virtually impossible.

The sense of inevitability had caused two totally different attitudes to emerge. There were those whom were treating him as if he had already lost, voicing sympathy and false confidence, as if he were a child in need of comfort. He hated that, but he could understand their lack of hope at his situation.

Then there were those who dove into researching with him as if it were their lives on the line. Raina, Claire, Albert, and a handful of others. They steadfastly refused to accept the possibility that he would die. They snapped at anyone who hinted otherwise, and pulled him back from any spiralling negative thoughts.

It warmed his chest to know that they truly believed that he would not only live through his upcoming battle, but excel.

The only person who had ever shown that level of confidence in him was his mother.

He frowned lightly as he thought of the woman.

Hadrian had no idea how he felt about his mother coming to Britain. He does not know why, but the thought of her being here to watch and support him had never really crossed his mind before the meeting with the Minister.

He supposed he was happy that he would get to see her again before he competed; that he would get the chance to hug her and feel the familiar weight of her fingers carding through his hair. He could tell her that he loved her, and that she was the most important thing in his life, just in case.

She had always been there for him, pushing him and encouraging his growth; he would have been devastated if he died without having at least one last moment with her.

On the other hand, the thought of his mother here, surrounded by their enemies, made his stomach clench in fear. He knew she would be under the rune's protection, but so many things could go wrong. She would never do anything to endanger them, but this was far too risky for his liking.

If he lost his cool around Lucius Malfoy in their first meeting, without even having a history with the man, he did not want to see his mother have to interact with people she not only knew, but had fought against. It would be too draining on her, to have to be around the people that had ruined their lives and not give something away.

He trusted her to not say or do anything incriminating, but all it would take is one unguarded moment, one flicker of hatred, and everything could unravel.

Hadrian sighed, eyes drooping tiredly.

"Pleasant dreams, Mr. Evans."

He scowled fiercely at the insidious whisper, focussing on the anger that suddenly bubbled to life in his chest; if only to avoid having to address his almost crippling embarrassment. Just the memory of that night had him grinding his teeth together.

He was such an idiot.

"I prefer Hadrian, sir."

And the way Riddle had smiled at him.

"Pleasant dreams, Hadrian."

The way his name had slipped from the man's lips, so quiet and amused made him groan in exasperation.

He had behaved so childishly, seeking out Riddle in the middle of the night. He never should have allowed himself to get into such a state that a midnight visit to one of the most sly individuals he had ever encountered seemed like a fantastic idea. He would have been fine if he had simply spoken with Riddle, then left.

But no. He had stayed, he had actually accepted a drink from him and talked with him with a familiarity he should not have. They had been engaged, debating and arguing and baiting each other like it was a game. And to make things worse, he had slept in the man's room, without a single protest.

"Trying to get me into bed, sir?"

He deserved to be clubbed over the head for that remark in particular.

Waking up had been disorientating at first, having no recollection of where he was. Then the memories had slammed into him, and the mortification had risen like a tsunami. He had spent a good three minutes just burying his face into a pillow and mentally berating himself.

It was honestly a relief that Riddle had been nowhere to see when he had crept out of the office. Hadrian did not think he could have handled that. But it did leave him curious as to why the professor had just left him there, not only for the morning, but until almost lunch time.

The man would had to have come and gone from his office at least once during that time, and yet he had not attempted to wake him. It made him uneasy, not knowing the motive behind Riddle's actions.

One thing was for certain, he could not afford to let anything like that happen again. And he certainly had no intention of ever letting his mother find out about it.

She would be horrified to discover that not only had he let his guard down, but that he had done so in the presence of someone like Riddle - someone who clearly was not one to trust.

The problem was, on some level, Hadrian did trust Riddle. It was completely ridiculous, and no doubt a terrible idea, but there was something about the professor that just made him so easy to talk to. And it was not his charm - the method he used to entrap his other students - it was something Hadrian had never experienced before.

It was just a sense of understanding. Hadrian looked at Riddle and saw some who got it.

The feeling was as liberating as it was dangerous. Because Riddle was not an ally, and he had to remember that.

He was distracted as the front door swung open, and was on his feet the moment he spotted Lécuyer's intricately pinned hair.

Lécuyer smiled when she saw him, and embraced him warmly. "Hadrian, I am glad you are ready." Her sparkling eyes dragged up and down him, a small smirk pulling at the side of her mouth. "And not a hair out of place, an improvement I must say." Like before, there was no hint of rebuke in her words or expression, more gentle teasing then anything.

Hadrian returned her grin, immensely pleased to see his marvellous Minister. There was a reason she was unopposed.

"I assure you Minister, if it were not for my mother's presence, I would not look this good." She chuckled at him, delighted.

"Yes, I can understand that reasoning completely." She winked at him, hand curling around his shoulders to pull him towards the door. "Now, we must hurry. I have permission to kidnap you for only a handful of time before you are expected to be back here."

Together, they left the carriage and made their way out onto the dew-covered grass. The air was chilly, and even though his hands were freezing, Hadrian offered his arm to the Minister out of courteousness. Again, she smiled at him as she placed her hand on his outstretched arm.

"Minister Malfoy has given us special permission to use one of the apparation points to go to the designated meeting point."

"I thought it was impossible to apparate in and out of Hogwarts. The wards..."

Lécuyer tapped her nose conspiratorially. "It was put in after the change of power, as a means of allowing certain individuals a quick means of access. One must have someone keyed into the wards to use them though, to avoid just anyone coming through." She led him up into the castle and down various hallways until they entered a room.

Inside, Lucius Malfoy stood waiting.

Hadrian straightened when the man glanced at him, meeting his gaze head on.

Surprisingly though, the British Minister only scrutinised him for a few moments before turning to speak to Lécuyer quietly. Hadrian let his eyes wander over the room, taking in the runes etched into the stone walls and floor with intrigue. The marks were all glowing faintly, and that alone alerted Hadrian to the fact that whatever the runes did to the wards of Hogwarts required quite a lot of magic.

"Mr. Evans, please come here."

Hadrian looked up to see Lécuyer already standing patiently within the circle on the floor. He moved to stand next to her as Malfoy gestured.

"You might feel a brief pinch, but I assure you it is entirely natural. When you are ready to return Minister Lécuyer, please return to the corresponding location and we shall send you through."

Hadrian watched closely as Malfoy began the spell, taking in as much of the proceedings as he could, before he was gone with a loud crack.

Hadrian stumbled as he landed, shuddering at the horrible sensation that washed through him. 'Pinch. Right.'

Lécuyer seemed to have fared better than him, and was already moving towards the door. Hadrian trailed after her silently, surprised to note where they were.

This was his first time inside the British Ministry of Magic, and everywhere he looked there was something attention-snagging. He particularly was interested in the impressive floo network, fireplaces lining the walls and occasionally flaring as workers came and went. Even this early, the entrance hall was somewhat crowded.

Hadrian followed closely behind his Minister, glad that so far, they had avoided unnecessary attention. It appeared that in the morning, these witches and wizards had more important things on their minds than observing the two foreigners cut their way towards a side hallway.

"Where are we going, Minister?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, "We are heading to the International Gates, Monsieur Evans. It is a point of access for foreigners wishing to enter from another country. This is where we will be greeting the party."

Content with the answer, Hadrian simply nodded. He cast his gaze around the hallways, mentally comparing it to the Ministry back home.

The French Ministry was beautiful white marble, gold and silver trimming, large open windows, crystal statues and light everywhere.

Here it was...oppressively dark. The walls, the floors, the pillars - all were made of what appeared to be black marble, veins of poisonous green streaking through everything. It added an air of severity, but also a strange sense of beauty. It reminded Hadrian of a panther in that way, reeking of danger yet being mesmerising in its deadliness.

His lips twitched upwards as he thought of the large cat breed, privately amused.

Lécuyer eventually came to a stop, Hadrian right behind her. There were two men stationed in front of the door they would be going through. "Minister Lécuyer." One of them, a reasonably attractive man with cut grey hair and sharp eyes, stepped forward with an affable grin on his lips. He took the Minister's offered hand and bowed politely, face never once wavering from its genial expression.

"An honour to meet you face-to-face." He pressed a simple, chaste kiss to the back of her hand before he straightened. He was quite tall, and his black robes emphasised his strong figure. Hadrian fixed a bland smile on his face when the man turned to him and offered his hand.

He hesitated for but a breath, before slipping his hand into the wizard's and firmly shaking it. "And your champion - I've heard nothing but praise about you Mr. Evans." There was a barely noticeable change in tone when the man said his last name. It was slight, and Hadrian did not know if anyone else caught it, but he had been dealing with this subtle prejudice all his life, and could immediately identify a blood elitist when he saw one.

They were all the same, after all.

His grin grew even as his eyes burned. "Undoubtedly." He murmured, watching in cautious amusement as something ugly flickered through those steely eyes. This reminded him intimately of his first encounter with Lucius Malfoy.

"Unspeakable Rookwood," Lécuyer smoothly interrupted, stepping up next to Hadrian in a move that was equal parts protective and threatening. Hadrian briefly marvelled at the gall of his Minister, feeling his respect for her rise. He was not particularly bothered at having her step in to defend him, nor did his pride prickle at her actions.

He had always appreciated strong women. His mother. Madame Maxime. Claire and Raina. Lécuyer. All women he held in high regard, due to their ferocity and strength of will. If anything, seeing her so effortlessly stare down someone as renown as Augustus Rookwood was delightful.

"I believe we have an appointment to make."

Rookwood dipped his head in obedience that was - surprisingly - not condescending in the least. Hadrian studied the Death Eater with interest. He would have expected a hint of annoyance from the man, but all he could detect was cool acceptance. Maybe even a spark of mild mirth.

How odd.

"Of course, forgive me, Minister. Come, everything has been prepared for your party's arrival." Rookwood spun on his heel and opened the large doors, his polished shoes clicking loudly on the floor. Lécuyer and Hadrian moved after him, leaving the second, unnamed wizard to bring up the rear.

Hadrian ignored the feeling of eyes boring into the back of his head. The urge to turn and look at the wizard behind him was almost overwhelming, especially when coupled with the fear of discovery.

He had no idea how many people here had known his father. James Potter was quite the auror when he was alive, and his heavy involvement against Voldemort had often brought him into conflict with the Dark Lord's forces. It was entirely likely that more than one of them would feel a fleeting sense of familiarity when seeing him.

One good thing would come from his mother's arrival at least. When she was under her glamours, there would be no doubt in anyone's mind which parent he resembled more.

After today, any lingering suspicions should dissipate.

The room they entered was more a chamber than anything, and the only thing inside was a fireplace. Though unlike the simple fireplaces in the entrance hall, this one was far grander.

He tilted his head back to stare at the ginormous structure, a little in awe despite himself. He could almost feel the hum of magic in the air, it was so potent.

"Your party is scheduled to appear in two minutes, Minister Lécuyer." Rookwood stated, pivoting until he was facing them again. The same, patient smile still on his face. "Unfortunately, for security reasons, my colleague and I must remain until all registered travellers are accounted for and the floo closed. I'm sure you understand."

From the borderline bored look in his eyes, Rookwood clearly did not care either way what their opinion on the matter was.

Hadrian stood quietly to the side, staring blankly at the fireplace as anticipation clenched his gut. In just a few minutes he would finally be able to see his mother again. The thought brought a small smile to his lips.

Hadrian took a moment to glance around the virtually empty chamber, his eyes eventually falling on the second escort. He was thin and bald, with a heavy scar running down the side of his face that was casting an ominous look on his face. He held himself rigidly, beady eyes fixed on Rookwood with unnerving intensity.

With curiosity, he carefully prodded the man with his magic, wanting to know what the dark glint in his eyes meant. Instantly, he was hit with an unhealthy dose of loathing, mingled with biting jealousy and longing. Hadrian bit back a smirk.

Whoever this man was, clearly he had some form of grudge against Rookwood. If he had to guess, he would say the jealousy had something to do with the fact that Rookwood was amongst the top of Voldemort's forces. Hadrian was not well-versed on many Death Eaters, but the top tier had been something he studied and reviewed constantly as a child.

He had to understand just who he needed to go after eventually.

Rookwood was important. And this man...not so much. It appeared even Death Eaters were human than.

A bell rang once, the sound filling the room and drawing their attention. Rookwood removed his wand and tapped the fireplace, to which the inside of it flashed once in acknowledgement. Hadrian moved to stand just behind his Minister.

The fire in the hearth burst to life, and five figures quickly moved forward. Hadrian immediately recognised the Undersecretary, and behind him -

"Fleur?" He blinked in surprise, cutting off the greeting between Lécuyer and the other officials. The gorgeous witch smiled at him, moving forward to plant a firm kiss on both of his cheeks. Her face glowed with happiness and pride. "'adrian!"

Her clear, musical voice broke his stupor, and with a grin he kissed her cheeks back before tugging her into a firm hug. Fleur was taller than him, but not by much, so she perched her pointed chin on his shoulder and laughed softly in his ear.

"I have missed you." She whispered, and Hadrian closed his eyes, enjoying the way their language fell from her lips.

"I missed you as well." They separated, and Fleur scanned him critically. She tutted in disappointment.

"Have you been eating enough?" He chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully.

"I promise that I have. Honestly, you need a new hobby, one that preferably doesn't involve mothering me needlessly." He teased lightly, and Fleur's eyes positively sparkled.

"When I can trust you to take care of yourself adequately, then I will leave you alone. I do not even want to consider how negligent you have gotten without me there to keep you on track."

Hadrian snorted, crossing his arms and fighting a grin. "'Keep me on track'? Really, is that what you are calling it these days? All I recall is you following me around demanding I fight you, because I offended your 'honour'." He rocked back on his heels, smug. "Remind me again how well that worked out for you?"

She brushed some of her fringe out of her eyes, before her fingers fell down to trace the very fine chain that hung around her neck. Her lips curled upwards in a simple, fond smile. "Rather well, actually."

Hadrian felt warmth spread through him when he realised she was wearing his graduation gift to her. It had been a spur of the moment purchase, something he had seen in one of the market stalls near his home during the holidays. He and Fleur had just moved passed the most antagonistic stage of their relationship, and he had wanted to get the part-veela something to show how much he had come to respect her before she took off into the wider world.

To know that she still wore the little trinket would have made him blush if he were anyone else. Then again, when he had presented it to her years ago, Fleur had basically preened.

" Monsieur Evans." The call drew his attention away from his friend, and with a jolt he realised that not only had more arrived, but many were watching them with expectant faces. Lécuyer raised an eyebrow at him and nodded her head in the direction of the fireplace. "I believe there is someone who would like to see you."

Hadrian took a sharp breath, spinning to see who the Minister was talking about. He spotted his mother, locking onto her disguised form with ease. He was moving to her before he could think. He ignored the countless eyes on him, wrapping his arms around his mother's petite frame and almost crushing her to his chest.

Seeing her brought a feeling of absolute contentment to him. It had only been a handful of weeks - not even the longest he had spent away from her - but the events and stress had made everything too much for him. Holding the only person in his life he knew he could rely on without hesitation was cathartic.

Lily's hands wrapped around him with equal force, and she breathed his name so softly he could barely hear it. There was so much relief in that one word, as if seeing him again was also undoing all of her own fears and worries.

They stayed like that for a long moment, before Hadrian pulled away and gently tucked some of her inky black hair behind her ear. "Maman."

Her green eyes, brighter than normal and matching his, roamed over him, taking in everything. Something flashed through them too quickly for him to catch, but whatever it was vanished in the next moment. She smiled up at him, one hand coming up and cupping his cheek. "I am so glad you are safe."

Almost an hour later, after being escorted to another room, Hadrian stood next to Lily. His mother had not spoken much during the round of introductions he had had to endure, seeing as she had already been acquainted with all of the politicians that come through. But Hadrian knew that they would eventually have to discuss everything.

He was dreading having to tell her what the first task was. He had told her that winning the tournament would be beneficial to them, but if he died during the first task then their plan would come undone. He doubted she would be pleased to hear he was being pitted against a manticore.

There was also the problem of Éric, who was prowling around the room. Hadrian knew the man would not pull anything when there were so many witnesses, and he certainly would not approach him about Jacob if Hadrian's mother was present. So, wishing to delay that as long as he could, he remained glued to his mother's side.

"What are you going to do about tomorrow night?" He asked quietly. They were in a relatively secluded corner, and he felt safe enough to bring up this topic with her.

To be honest, he had been blindsided when Minister Lécuyer had informed them that tomorrow night, and the night after, the gathered politicians from the three countries plus the champions and their families, would be asked to attend a small gathering of sorts.

Normally, Hadrian would not be too concerned. But then Lécuyer had informed them that the Dark Lord would be attending the first night. No matter how strong his mother was, Hadrian did not want her in the same room as Voldemort until they were positive she could handle being around the man.

Hadrian had trouble keeping himself subdued whenever he was around the man, and he had virtually no significant past encounters with him. His mother had been there the night Voldemort broke into their house in Godric's Hollow. She had fought against him, and fled from him to protect them.

Lily sighed inaudibly. "I don't know. It is best that I do not go tomorrow night. But I do not like the idea of leaving you alone with them all."

Hadrian smiled at her worry, and bumped his shoulder against hers. "I can survive one night dancing with the sharks maman." He assured her, casting his eyes over the gathered politicians. "And I agree. Somethings might not agree with you."

She inclined her head, "I think a sudden case of mild floo-sickness will be enough to excuse me for one night. Not entirely suspicious considering our manner of travelling here. International travel is always more taxing on the body."

Hadrian hummed knowingly, "And your immune system is, of course, still unsteady from your last bout of the cold." Lily's green eyes looked up at him with approval. "Best not to risk you becoming more unwell, maman, by pushing yourself to attend a simple gathering." He continued, the words of a doting son, but the tone of a mischievous boy.

Lily knocked her knuckles against his. "Indeed. I expect you will make the appropriate apologies on my behalf."

"Naturally."

She sighed again, a little louder this time. “Are you sure you will be okay without me there? I do not like the idea of letting you fend for yourselves with...them."

He chuckled humourlessly. "I have done alright so far. And besides, the only ones I have to watch for have already formed a solid opinion on me. I am a talented mudblood. Good enough to get noticed, but still too dirty to pay much attention to."

"Please don't use that term, not even in jest." Her voice was steely and Hadrian dipped his head in apology.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I should know better."

"It's alright, I understand what you mean anyway. So," she brought them back on topic. "you will be alright?"

Hadrian brought up his left hand and placed it on her shoulder, "Maman, I will be completely fine." He said firmly, yet kindly. Her concern was sweet, but unnecessary. He had been dealing perfectly well here on his own for more than a month. One more night would not kill him.

Lily was no longer listening to him though, her gaze was fixed on his arm - or rather, the bracelet that peeked out from under his sleeve. "What is that?"

Hadrian drew his hand away self-consciously. His mother did not sound pleased at all. "It is a condition to being champion. We all wear one."

"And just what does it do to you?" Her lovely face was pinched.

He grimaced. "Unclear. We were told it monitored our health, and that it protects us against dangerous spells and poisons, to make sure we do not die in between tasks."

She fell silent, glaring at the silver snake with abhorrence. Her disgust melted away though. "Why are its eyes glowing?"

Hadrian opened his mouth to answer - to tell her that for some reason Voldemort had done something extra to his - but he fell silent before any words could escape.

His mother was already stressed enough from these events, hearing that the Dark Lord had focussed on him specifically and done something suspicious to his bracelet would cause her more problems than she needed. He could figure out what was going on by himself. There was no need to give her something else to worry about.

So he shrugged, "I don't know." He answered, not technically lying. "It's eyes started glowing when it was put on me." Again, not a lie. He watched as his mother frowned, pensive. She was not satisfied with his answer, but she had no choice but to let it go for now, because the Minister was calling for their attention again.

OoO

He stood, sipping slowly at his drink, eyes scanning the crowd leisurely. The gathering was well underway at this point, and so far Hadrian had successfully managed to escape any significant attention.

Minister Lécuyer had spent the first half of the night looming close to him, more than ready to bring up his academic success, his prodigious skill and any other aspect she could to make these bigots see him as a credible threat to their own champions. Few seemed to take her words seriously though, and those that did were far too prideful to approach him about it.

His tactless comment yesterday with his mother, while insulting, was entirely true. To most here, he was considered a mudblood, and as such, they hardly believed him worthy of their notice. Oh, a select few had come to him throughout the night, picking at him in a similar fashion to how vultures swarmed, but they were easy enough to handle.

A smile here, and flattering comment there, and they left him alone, content in the knowledge that while he was charming, he was not particularly threatening.

Their mistake. He thought with a small smirk.

If this continued, he might actually manage to survive the night without having to deal with too much.

He spotted Draco hovering beside his father and mockingly saluted the blond when they locked eyes. The Slytherin looked unimpressed with his cheeky response to his barely-concealed boredom.

Not my fault you're his son.

"Mr. Evans, any particular reason you are lurking in the shadows rather than enjoying the company?" The sibilant voice shocked him, and he quickly turned to meet the burning crimson gaze that pinned him in his place. Hadrian's fingers tightened around the stem of his glass.

"Lord Voldemort." He greeted, a brief pause between the title and the name, making it stilted. He shook the feeling of unease off and answered the man's initial question. "I am not in a particularly social mood this evening, I'm afraid."

"Ah yes," the Dark Lord spoke softly, "I had heard your mother was not attending tonight due to illness. Her state would, naturally, preoccupy your thoughts."

Hadrian blinked as a perfect excuse for his attitude was handed to him. He internally frowned, but nodded in agreement. Let the man think what he wanted, it mattered little.

"International travel is often hard on those in an already fragile state, due to the amount of magic it takes to transport one over such great distances." Voldemort nodded at him, "Please pass along my well-wishes for her swift recovery. Have a good evening, Mr. Evans." And like that, the serpentine looking man was gliding away from him.

Hadrian watched him go with narrowed eyes, his mind spinning over the chorus of what was that?

He stiffened abruptly, breath choking off.

"I had heard your mother was not attending tonight due to illness."

He had used the phrasing his mother had when they had spoken yesterday. Not exactly the same but...it was far to coincidental for his tastes.

"I had heard your mother..."

He had not mentioned to anyone else the ‘previous’ cold his mother had suffered from. Most simply took his word for it when he had explained that she was not feeling well. There was no way Voldemort could have known about…

"I had heard..."

Hadrian eyes darkened, and tiny, hairline cracks appeared in the glass window behind him. He watched as the Dark Lord spoke with several politicians, as if he had not just alerted Hadrian to exactly what his bracelet had been doing.

You son of a bitch.

Chapter Text

He slipped out of the party as soon as he could without raising suspicion. He made his way down the hallway and ducked into the first alcove he came across. His hands were clenched and trembling as anger surged inside him.

A listening charm.

A fucking listening charm.

How had he not seen this coming? How had he been so blind?

It was such an underhanded tactic, something only someone deceitful and two-faced would do. It was precisely the sort of move he should have expected from the Dark Lord. It was the sort of move he would have pulled if the positions were reversed.

And it was that fact that had him fluctuating between begrudgingly impressed and downright pissed off.

Right now, though, the rage was winning.

Hadrian took a steadying breath and leaned his head back against the wall. He had to fix this. He had no idea if the slip had been intentional or not, but now that he knew of it, there was no way he could simply sit and allow his biggest threat to listen in on his conversations.

There were advantages to this, of course. He could lay false information, use this to twist Voldemort's knowledge of him anyway it suited him. But to do that he would have to know, at all times, when the charm was activated. He would have to spend every minute of every day meticulously planning everything he said, just on the off chance the Dark Lord was listening in.

Hadrian was good, but he doubted he could keep that up for such an extended period of time. He would make a mistake eventually, if he spent all his time carefully evaluating every word that passed his lips; and with the added pressure of the tournament creeping ever closer, he could not afford to have another distraction tugging at him.

No. It would be easier to eliminate this factor. And it had the added bonus of showing Voldemort that he was not a silly little student. The man would know instantly that Hadrian had figured out and countered his charm the next time he tried to spy on him, but he could hardly kick up a fuss about it, lest he draw attention to the very illegal thing he was doing.

The French Ministry would splutter with outrage if they knew the rights of one of their own were being violated.

Dark Lord he may be, but Voldemort did not have the same political backing outside of Britain. If the man was so desperate to open up international communications, he would be unable to say anything, unless he wanted to sabotage his own efforts.

Hadrian liked the idea of that. How many people could claim to have one-upped the Dark Lord himself?

His heart rate settled as his mind began working, soothed with the knowledge that he might be able to shatter even one of Voldemort's little schemes.

To do that though, he had to get back to his room, where he could consult his books and figure this out.

Hadrian slipped out of the alcove, ruffling his hair and started to turn.

"Hadrian."

He paused, turning half-about before stopping as the voice registered. The pit in his stomach deepened and uprooted his previous excited buzz, and he narrowed his eyes as he locked onto the man in front of him.

Éric had his hands loosely at his sides, and his stance was entirely non-threatening. It meant little though. Hadrian knew that Éric was a master at keeping his composure, years of dancing and playing with the man taught him that. The man trying to not actively be intimidating just proved he was not going to like this conversation.

"Lord Korin," he started neutrally. "may I ask why you are here, rather than with the others?" As if they both did not already know, Hadrian merely hoped he was mistaken because he was not in the mood.

Éric watched him closely, brown eyes never straying from his face. There was a pause between them, before the man nodded once sharply. "There is much I wanted to discuss with you, Hadrian. When I noticed you leave I knew now was as good a time as any. How are you faring?"

Hadrian scanned the man from the toes of his polished boots to the tips of his hair. He shrugged, "As well as I can be, I suppose." He offered casually, trusting that Éric would understand the meaning behind his non-answer.

The man's lips twitched briefly, in the same half-amused way they always tended to do when Hadrian was around. "And your preparations for the first task? I had heard it was against a manticore?"

He inclined his head, confirming the statement. "Work in progress."

"And your mother, is she well?"

Hadrian rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms and gesturing for the man to follow him. "Lord Korin, it's been a long day, and I have a lot on my mind recently. Why don't we go somewhere more private so we can skip the pleasantries and get to why you are really here."

Éric nodded in agreement, and together they walked further down the darkened hallway, away from the faint noise of the ongoing party, and lessening the chances of someone stumbling across them and overhearing something they had no business knowing. With a faint scowl, Hadrian glanced down at his bracelet, and was pleased to note that the eyes were not glowing. If his theory was correct, that meant there was no unwanted third person hovering.

Hadrian selected a classroom at random, pulling it open and letting Éric enter first. It was not a room he was familiar with, but in a castle this size it was no surprise. Hadrian doubted that he had even been in every room at Beauxbatons.

The thought of his school brought a wave of serenity to him. Hogwarts was magnificent, and a part of him desperately wished that he had had the chance to come here, to experience all the wonders of this ancient building, to walk the same hallways his parents did before him.

But Beauxbatons was, and always would be his home. Nothing could ever sever the connection he felt with the mountain-carved academy.

Hadrian walked deeper into the room, passing Éric and whipping around to face him when there was a good two metres between them. His eyes bored into the politician's, bypassing the typical cat-and-mouse routine they had. "You are here about my falling out with Jacob, yes?"

At once, all traces of politeness dropped from Éric's face, and something very much like frustration took over his strong features. "'Falling out' is a rather weak way of putting it, from what my son has told me."

Though he did not show it, a trickle of discomfort hit Hadrian. If Jacob had let slip to his father the reason behind their fight, this could go bad very quickly. He had to discern just how much Jacob had revealed when he told his father of what happened between them.

"Yes, well, Jacob has been saying and doing an awful lot of things lately." The bitterness in his words was not feigned or manipulated in the least, and Éric's eyes narrowed at his tone. "I would have thought you would be pleased we are no longer speaking. You always were annoyed over our friendship."

"I was more annoyed over the fact that my only son and heir allowed himself to be lead around by his nose by a -" Éric cut himself off abruptly, and Hadrian smiled viciously.

"By a - what, Lord Korin? A mudblood? A no-name? Do complete your sentence, I am waiting with baited breath."

"By someone who is more foe than friend."

His pride flared, stung. "Excuse me?" He spat, "A 'foe'? When have I ever acted in a manner that threatened you or yours?" He stepped closer, voice dropping to a hiss. "Jacob was someone I trusted, someone I cared for, and I treated him as such. I never once encouraged any recklessness. I helped him whenever he got in trouble. And you dare stand there and accuse me of being an enemy?"

"You were an unknown variable," where Hadrian was furious, Éric was unnervingly calm. "I did not trust you. I did not know what your motives or goals were, and it made me uneasy to have you around my son, influencing him. Surely it did not escape your notice how easily he succumbed to your whims? How readily he looked to you for guidance or advice or direction?"

Éric tilted his head down at him, "You had a dangerous amount of his loyalty."

"Then perhaps you should be speaking to him about that. It sounds more like his flaw than mine."

The man sighed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his words. "If you would let me finish, before you spoke, this would be far less painful for the both of us." Hadrian, still stewing over Éric's earlier remark, bowed mockingly, gesturing for Éric to speak. The man did so, with a twist to his mouth.

"I did not approve of the power you held in your friendship, in fact, if I had my way, Jacob would never have let your relationship progress beyond casual acquaintances. You were - are - dangerous. You have always been ahead of your classmates - unnervingly so, and the years have done nothing to stop your growth. I looked into your eyes and saw you as someone who was not above using others to get what you wanted. You are the type of person to let those around you crash and burn if they are in your way."

Éric glanced away from him for a moment, face like stone.

"I was not willing to let my child be a tool for you to exploit for your own purposes, I did not want to see him broken and tossed aside if you ever grew bored of him. But the more I pulled Jacob away, the more he sought you out. By trying to distance you, I inadvertently acted as the catalyst for the very thing I was aiming to prevent. Before I even knew it, he was so far under your thrall there was little I could do but sit back and watch."

A tinge of pain bloomed in the man's eyes.

"So no, I did not agree with your friendship, but I could also not deny that due to your company, Jacob flourished in a way I could never have predicted."

Hadrian blinked at the shift.

"He has become much more confident, and has learned to control his emotions better. He is more cunning and chooses his words with more care. I believe, in large, that that is thanks to you. The example you set for him - while not one I would have chosen - allowed for Jacob to hone his own innate skills and begin to develop other qualities that can only help him in the future."

Hadrian glanced away when Éric attempted to caught his eyes. He clenched his jaw and stayed silent.

"Jacob cares for you, far more than is appropriate, and certainly more than I agree with. But he had reached an age where my word is no longer the law for him. And that is why I am here."

He finally looked up at the politician, curious despite himself. "I do not know what occurred to create this rift between the two of you, and at this point, I would rather not be told." Hadrian narrowed his eyes.

Does he know, about Jacob and I? Does he know just what our relationship entailed?

It did not bother Hadrian if Éric had figured out that the two of them had slept together on more than one occasion, though he was intrigued to know what Éric's reaction would have been. Homosexual relationships were not frowned upon in the Wizarding World, but there were still a select few that would not stand for the idea.

His words made it clear that any interactions between Hadrian and his son had him wary. But he had also just admitted that Hadrian had helped Jacob's growth.

Personally, he did not see it. Jacob would have developed those skills eventually, with or without Hadrian beside him. He might have assisted, in the same way friends often helped support each other. But to credit it all to Hadrian? Ridiculous.

"I am here to help you fix it."

Hadrian dropped his defensive posture and laughed sharply, unable to help himself. "There will be no 'fixing it', Lord Korin. I do not know what Jacob told you about what happened, but he seems to have left out the very important fact that he betrayed me. This is not some spat between rowdy children that requires adult intervention. This is the case of someone that I put my faith in failing to meet it."

"Do you really wish to go to your death with this?"

A chill seeped into Hadrian's chest at the words. He was so used to everyone avoiding the topic, that to hear to addressed so plainly was startling. "I do not intend to die, Lord Korin."

The smile the man levelled at him was as dangerous as a viper. "Very few do, Hadrian. My point still stands. Would you like to die knowing that you and Jacob would never have had the chance to repair your bond? Would you like to die knowing that one of your closest friends would be forever haunted by a simple mistake?"

"You assume I want to be friends with Jacob again."

Hadrian knew what he was doing. Éric might not approve of their relationship, but the man knew that for all the control Hadrian exhibited over Jacob, the two of them were good together. Hadrian dying in the tournament would undoubtedly ruin Jacob beyond belief, seeing as it was he who nominated him in the first place. A morbid part of him wondered if the other boy would feel like a murderer if that came to pass.

Even though he did not know the whole story, Éric was trying to stop his son’s pain before it happened, or at least lessen it in a way that would not crush Jacob.

"You do." Éric said with all the assurance of the Gods. "Because you would not be this angered if he did not mean something to you. And no matter what they do to us, no matter how we may wish otherwise as times, the ones that mean something to us are always the ones we long for the most."

He knew Éric was referring to his late wife from the way he reverently touched his wedding ring. Hadrian's mind was reluctantly reminded of the look in his mother's eyes whenever she spoke of her father. It was the gleam of what if and if only.

"I can't." He shook his head as he spoke, slowly and deliberately. "I cannot forgive him for what he did. One day, maybe, but not yet. If Jacob and I are meant to be friends, then that is where we will end up. As for right now? I have no real desire to reconnect with him."

Éric sighed again, though not in an aggravated manner. The expression on his face said that he had expected this answer. "I just pray that you make the right decision before the day comes where you no longer have the chance."

Hadrian did not reply. He looked away from the man and stared at the wall blankly. He was finished with this conversation. He wanted to leave. Without even glancing at the politician, Hadrian pivoted and made his way to the door.

"Whatever your decision regarding my son is, I wish you the best of luck for the upcoming trials Hadrian. This year will most likely be the hardest you ever endure. And I do not envy you."

Hadrian closed the door and walked away, chest both heavy and strangely light at the same time.

He followed the route back to the carriage, entering the comforting surroundings and making his way to his room. For a horrible moment he paused outside of his old room - Jacob's room. He dithered on the spot, Éric's words repeating softly in his mind.

He was just on the other side of this door. Likely sleeping – on his stomach because he preferred using his arms to cradle his head then rely on pillows – but he would wake if he knocked. Jacob was always a light sleeper.

His hand twitched as if to carry out the thought, but at the last second he dropped it and stepped back to remove the temptation.

He was allowed to be angry for however long he wanted dammit.

Hadrian quickly shot into his room and clicked the door shut. He took a breath and headed to his bookshelf, determined that before the night was done he would have a solution to this problem. He pulled the first book he saw on the cancellation of spells from its place and sat on the closest seat.

All thoughts of Jacob and Éric and the future shrivelled in the face of this new puzzle, to be explored at a much later time.

He mind was now torn between finding an answer, and worrying over what this latest revelation meant.

If Voldemort had been listening in on him, there was no telling what the man had heard over the weeks. Hadrian was positive that the listening charm was activated whenever the snake's eyes glowed, but he could hardly recall every instance when that had happened.

Definitely the first night he had worn it, and sporadically after that.

Meaning he would have heard his talk with his mother. As well as his confrontation with Jacob.

Fuck.

Had they said anything incriminating that night? Other than expressing disappointment at his naming, he could not remember what was said exactly. He was suddenly beyond grateful that his mother was so cautious about using his birth name only in their home. If she had called him 'Harry' during their conversation, it could have caused something.

The worst Voldemort would know was that Hadrian did not wish to be champion, and that in and of itself was not particularly damaging. Because as far as Hadrian was concerned, nobody in their right mind should want this.

Hadrian traced his fingers over the text intently.

The most effective defence against charms is to know the exact counter for the particular charm in question. Incorrect or weak counters allow for the possibility of the charm not be stopped completely, or to continue functioning unaffected.

He hummed lightly, snapping the book closed. His eyes roved over the shelf and he plucked two more books from their places. He flipped through them until he hit the desired section.

In regards to listening charms - of which there are many - the most common form of protection would be the imperturbable charm. This charm is most effective for blocking potential eavesdroppers when in a secluded room.

Hadrian skipped a few more pages. Soundproofing a room was all well and good, but he needed something that was applicable to his situation. He needed something that worked on objects. He scanned for more information, frowning as the author moved on from listening charms and into silencing spells.

Those had some merit.

Almost an hour flew passed before he eventually shut his books in frustration. He knew what he wanted to do, but it would be virtually impossible to use any of these spells on the listening charm installed on his bracelet.

If it were a standard charm, he would have no difficulty cancelling it; however, due to the charm being cast in Parseltongue, he would need to find a completely different way to go about this.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, letting his thoughts wander at their own pace.

He could try and find a way to speak Parseltongue, but he was not particularly interested in learning the snake language, and it would take far too much time.

There was no spell he could use that would successfully counteract it, though.

Hadrian sighed, curling forward and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He impatiently ripped off his tie and tossed it in the general direction of his bed, his blazer following moments later. With deft fingers he started unbuttoning his shirt, to give himself something to do while he thought.

He collapsed on his bed after his shirt was removed, letting his limbs sprawl inelegantly and closing his eyes as the day’s events hit him.

He just wished there was a way he could solve all his problems, as if there was something to stop it all at once. Put himself in a little bubble and just get a few moments to himself without stress and fear weighing down on him.

The thought sparked, and with a cut off shout of excitement he sprung to his feet and moved to his bag. Hadrian dug through his belongings until he found his Ancient Runes textbook and pulled it free with a grin.

He quickly opened it to the page he needed, and reached to grab his kit.

Hadrian found the rune he was looking for and wasted no time in picking up the small ball-point tool and dipping it into the ink well. He moved the snake bracelet as high as he could, leaving his wrist bare.

Let's see you listen in now.

OoO

The next night, Hadrian stood smugly next to Draco, enjoying the warmth that spread through his chest with each sip of his drink. The rune on his wrist - hidden by the bracelet - sparked, and with glinting eyes he looked to see the snake's eyes flash red. He was almost giddy with his success.

He had taken a great risk - had acted completely reckless and stupid - last night after he had applied the rune, waiting until the listening charm was activated before saying two words that could have doomed everything. He had stayed awake for hours afterwards, waiting for any reaction, yet none had come.

He knew then that his plan had worked. Because if Voldemort had heard what he had said - what he had confessed - then there was no reason for the man to not come flying at him. Voldemort would have rained down on him like a thunderstorm and not stopped until he was dead at his feet, international status or not.

As the day dragged on, it merely reaffirmed Hadrian's belief that he had actually done it. He was still here, still breathing, and now free from Voldemort's charm.

He had been absolutely correct in his assumption that he would not be able to cancel the Parseltongue spell without knowing the language. But there was nothing stopping him from applying runes to himself to stop such charms from having an effect.

The tiny little line of tattoos on his inner wrist acted as a protective barrier, stopping any and all forms of spying charms from transmitting to their caster. They still activated, but nothing slipped passed the invisible bubble around him.

He was still reeling from his success that he did not even mind that he had been separated from his mother earlier this evening.

"You are awfully smug tonight," the Malfoy heir commented lightly, his own glass resting against his lips as mercury eyes watched the mass of politicians. "care to share?"

Hadrian grinned, "You can do better than that, Draco." He fluttered his eyes mockingly, "Besides, I can't just be excited for once?"

Draco returned his grin with something sharper. "In the time that I have known you, I have discovered that whenever you get that look on your face, it can never mean anything good for anyone but you."

He snorted in amusement, lightly knocking shoulders with the other. "You make me sound like a menace to society. I am as angelic as they come."

The look on the blond's face made it very clear what his thoughts on that comment were. Hadrian snickered into his drink, eyes drifting the lovely figure of his mother across the room.

She looked absolutely gorgeous. The simple green dress hugged her form and brought out her copied eye colour brilliantly. Her now-black hair was loose, falling over her shoulders and covering her partially bare back.

She was laughing with one of the French politicians, doing a splendid job of looking like she was enjoying herself.

"Your mother," Draco began, having followed Hadrian's gaze. "you look like her."

The observation made something almost nostalgic to spread through his heart. No, he thought, I look like my dad.

"I guess I do." Something in his tone clearly warned Draco off the subject, for he hummed lightly in silent acknowledgement and turned to a different topic.

"You have figured out the first task, then?"

Intrigued that this is what he went with, Hadrian locked eyes with the taller boy. There was nothing dubious on his face, and his emotions were projecting nothing but curiosity. So Hadrian nodded.

Immediately, Draco shifted closer and dropped his voice. "Which are you then? What did you get?"

"What do you mean?" He frowned, not understanding the question.

"I mean – what creature did you get? My father would not tell me what the other options were, saying I did not need it to distract me."

He felt uneasy. "What creature did you get?" He asked instead. With a huff, and a roll of his eyes, Draco answered.

"Hungarian Horntail, you?"

Different creatures. They gave us different creatures...Sweet Circe, why?

"Manticore," he replied, a little hoarse. He cleared his throat absently. "I got a manticore."

Draco rocked back on his heels, eyes widening and a glimmer of concern entered his delicate features. Much like everyone else that had heard, he did not look particularly enthusiastic for Hadrian's chances. "Fuck," he whispered, "I'm sorry." And he truly did sound it.

Hadrian shrugged, recovering from his brief lapse of composure at the revelation that they were all going to be fighting different creatures.

He supposed it made sense, in a way. Not only would it add a new level of drama to the proceedings for the audience, it eliminated the chances of a ruined task if one of the first champions somehow managed to seriously wound, or even kill their creature.

It also made it significantly harder for them to seek help from their fellow champions, should they be so inclined. They would each have to come up with completely different strategies to combat the unique qualities of their chosen creature.

It did make him wonder though, how they were assigned their creatures.

I swear, if Voldemort was the one who picked which ones we fight -

The thought broke off suddenly, and he choked mid-drink. The burning alcohol went down the wrong pipe and he coughed into the crook of his elbow, eyes watering.

Draco looked at him, scandalised, and shifted away from him with a grimace. Luckily, no one else appeared to have noticed his fit.

Well, no one except the man currently speaking with his mother.

What the fuck is he doing?

"I'll be right back."

Without an explanation he left Draco's side and made his way over to his mother, gut churning but fingers twitching in what he dully noted was excitement.

Above his mother's head, Riddle's eyes jumped to lock onto him, a small smirk on his lips, before his attention dropped back to the woman.

OoO

Lily smiled and shook hands and made small talk with murderers. She half-expected her hands to be stained red every time she was released from another's grip.

Of course, not all of those present from Britain were Death Eaters - no, most were just prominent figures too afraid to act out against their dictator.

She could not help but view them with something akin to disappointment, even though she knew it was unfair. They should have done more to stop Voldemort, but at the same time, the self-preservation that made them submit was the exact same instinct that drove her to escape with Harry.

She could not fault them for doing the smart thing when she herself had done the exact same thing.

Being in Britain again, being at Hogwarts was enough to almost bring her to tears. It had been so long, so many years, and yet the same sensation of coming home was seeping into every inch of her.

She had taken some time earlier to simply wander around the castle, under a disillusionment charm.

Consequently, she had found herself sitting morosely in a particular nook on the fourth floor, knees to her chest and fingers running idly over the small carving in the stone. It was out of the way, hidden by the shadows where the light could not quite reach, and the sight of it had left her breathless with want.

JP & LE

She had cried then and there, remembering the day fondly. It was the last game of the year and Gryffindor had just slaughtered Ravenclaw.

James had all but dragged her off to celebrate by themselves, and while they had been kissing he had pulled away, boyish grin firmly in place and eyes shining in that way that made her heart pound.

“Watch this.” He had whispered, aiming his wand at the wall and with a flash of light, their initials had been there, carved into the stone. Lily had slapped him for defacing the school wall, even though her chest soared at his actions.

It was like Hogwarts itself had approved of them being together, allowing the initials to stay exactly where they were.

“Now we’ve left our mark here, Lils. You and me, always, okay?”

He had said it like I love you. And Lily had believed him.

Seeing those letter, as fresh as the day they were created, had hurt her terribly. Because they were so young back then, so naïve and innocent. They had looked at each other and made a promise that transcended wedding vows.

But we weren’t ‘always’, were we, James? Nothing ever lasts, not even love.

She missed his laugh and his jokes and the way he looked at her like she was the only thing worth seeing. She missed how he would throw Harry into the air at two in the morning just to replace his crying with squeals of laughter. She missed the weight of his hands on her body, and the press of his lips to her skin.

She just missed James so much.

Lily cast her eyes around the room for her son, having been separated from him nearly the moment they had entered.

She spotted him on the other side of the space, standing next to Draco Malfoy.

The two boys were standing close and whispering intently. Her lips thinned at the sight of their easy familiarity, disliking the thought of someone like Malfoy's spawn influencing her child.

She knew that as another champion, Harry was likely discussing the tournament with the other boy, but did he have to be so friendly?

"Mrs. Evans, I presume?"

Lily turned and found herself staring at a handsome wizard. He was older than her, that much she could tell in an instant, but all the sprinkles of white through his dark hair did was add an air of refinement to him that most younger men lacked.

His face had the barest traces of wrinkles, a timeless sort of beauty that made it difficult to pinpoint his exact age.

The polite smile on his face was entirely too charming, but it was the glint in his eyes that had her instincts blaring a warning.

She accepted his hand when he offered it and was not at all surprised when he bent to softly kiss the back of her palm.

"Tom Riddle, I teach Defence here at Hogwarts."

Ah.

Lily smiled back demurely. "It's a pleasure, professor."

The man dropped her hand, eyes drifting passed her head briefly before returning to her own. He looked amused.

"Forgive my forwardness, Mrs. Evans, but you look stunning this evening." Lily had heard that particular compliment many times throughout the night, but this was the first time it had sounded even remotely sincere. She opened her mouth to speak, however he carried on swiftly.

"It is easy to see who your son takes after."

That - she had not heard.

People had remarked on their likeness, but never in such an appreciative manner. Lily watched this man closely from under her lashes, stomach clenching uncomfortably. There was just something wrong about the other.

Nothing overt, or particularly note-worthy. But there was a lingering air about him that reminded her of her son; only much more...intense.

Whoever this man was, he was no mere professor. A Death Eater? Or perhaps someone in Voldemort's pocket? It was difficult to tell.

Regardless of who he was, Lily knew then and there that she had no desire to be around this man any longer than she had to be. And she certainly did not like the way he spoke of Harry.

"Thank you, professor." She said anyway, though in a distant manner that told anyone who could hear that she did not appreciate his company.

He merely watched her with a patient expression, taking a measured sip of his drink. He looked so...expectant, and that unnerved her.

What did he even want? Why was he speaking with her?

"Maman."

Lily tilted her head in Harry's direction, not willing to show her back to this man. Because of this, she was able to see the satisfaction that bled into his eyes at the arrival of her son.

She did not like this at all.

"Looking well rested I see."

Harry stepped up beside her, and - surprisingly - a small smirk appeared on his face. "You could say that. I did not expect you to be attending tonight, sir."

No, Lily reminded herself. This was not Harry right now. This was Hadrian.

Riddle hummed, leaning almost imperceptibly towards her son. "I had some spare time, in between grading and whatnot. You look as impeccable as always." He...teased? Lily's eyes rapidly flew between the two of them, mind piecing together what was happening in front of her.

The dangerous amusement on Riddle's face was mirrored on her son’s, and Lily watched with morbid fascination as the boy took a step closer to Riddle. They had all but dismissed her from their attention completely, far more focussed on their words then on their surroundings.

It disturbed her, how easily Harry let himself be drawn into the man's sphere. She had always told him to be constantly aware of what was happening around him, to never let his guard down. And yet here he was, ignoring everything except the professor before them.

She needed to break whatever was occurring between them.

"I finished marking your assignment last night, quite remarkable, Hadrian."

Hadrian? Lily frowned at the casual use of her son's second name. As far as she saw it, no teacher would use a student’s first name unless there was a sense of ease and comfort between the two. But even then, the way he said Harry's other name, like he was relishing it...

Her son did not seem to notice, he smiled up at the professor, though his eyes sparked. "Aren't I always?"

Lily had never heard him use such a flippant tone with an authority figure before. He was always courteous and respectful to adults; and while Riddle made her uncomfortable, he was still a teacher. She did not know what to make of either of them, especially as Riddle merely chuckled lowly at her son's comment, more delighted than anything.

"Indeed you are, Hadrian. Indeed you are."

Enough.

"Darling," she called softly, knot in her chest loosening when Hadrian fell away and Harry immediately broke eye contact with Riddle to turn his full attention on her.

He could not see the flash of annoyance that crossed the man's features, though she did. It merely cemented her desire to remove her son from this man's presence immediately. "I'm afraid I am not feeling my best, perhaps it is time for me to retire."

Harry, smart boy, did not outwardly react, though she could see the question swimming in his eyes. "Would you please go inform Minister Lécuyer that we will be departing."

He bobbed his head, "Of course, maman." His eyes briefly returned to Riddle, and nodded in goodbye. "'Till next time, professor." And then he was gone, to find Lécuyer and excuse them.

The moment he was gone, Lily found herself subjected to the intense scrutiny of those calculating blue eyes. She met the gaze fearlessly, words dancing on the tip of her tongue.

Demands to know just what this man thought he was doing with her child, to know what gave him the right to address Harry so informally, to act so comfortably around him.

She bit her questions back, offering the man a bland smile all the while projecting daggers with her eyes. "'Till next time, professor." She echoed her son's words as she spun and headed towards the exit, catching sight of Harry moving to intersect with her.

She knew he would have questions about her abrupt need to leave the party, but he was not going to cause a scene here. He followed her lead without pause or complaint, and for that she was grateful.

Harry ducked out of the room first, and Lily took the time to glance over her shoulder and search for that tall, handsome figure once again.

Riddle was gone though.

Chapter Text

His mother sat next to him, her slim, pale hand clutching his tightly. If he concentrated enough, he could feel the faint tremors that ran through her. He tried to ignore that he was probably shaking as much as her.

Draco took a steadying breath, flexing his fingers and closing his eyes. He just needed to remain calm, and not let the terror that was licking at his heels overrun him. He could not afford to make any mistakes today, because unlike in class, if he screwed up here there would be no second chances.

Out there, his mistakes would cost him his life.

"Darling," his mother murmured to him, and just the sound of her voice was enough to sooth him. He relaxed and looked to her. The expression on her face was a strange mix of pain and pride. "you will succeed; I have the utmost faith in you."

Such simple words, but from her, they erased some of the tension. He gave her a tiny smile in response.

"Draco!" A voice hissed, just above a whisper. He jerked around, spotting Hermione peeking through one of the tent flaps and ushering him over frantically. He made an aborted motion to go to her, only hesitating to glance back at his mother.

Narcissa and Lucius had never been outwardly cold to Hermione, but they maintained their distance all the same. Draco was the only one who would actively seek her out.

Narcissa smiled at him, "Go. She may not have been born to us, but she is family."

Relieved, Draco immediately moved to his foster sister. As he went, he saw Evans, who's own mother was running her hands down his uniform and murmuring softly to him. The two boys locked eyes.

Out of the three of them, Draco believed Evans got the worse possible creature. While all of their choices were XXXXX class beasts, both his and Kaiser's at least had some weaknesses. Evans would have to pull off something extremely ingenious to get his item from the manticore.

Draco wanted to know how the dark haired wizard was so calm, especially considering the beast he was about to face. He knew there had to be something underneath the easy gaze, but the other hid his emotions so easily that Draco had room to doubt.

Then, as he passed, a completely terrified smile broke through onto the French wizard's face, and Draco found himself relaxing at the sight of it. It was somehow comforting to know that the other was just as scared as he was.

He slipped out of the tent, and immediately found himself with an armful of Hermione. Her hair - even in a ponytail - blocked his vision and her hands clenched desperately in his shirt as she clung to him, face buried in his neck.

Warmth spread through Draco's chest, and he hugged her back just as tightly.

"R-remember," she mumbled into his skin, "aim for the eyes, a-and there's always a split second delay when they open their mouth to shoot. If you can get its mouth, then you should be fine. And watch out for its tail for Merlin's sake. It's called 'Horntail' for a reason. I swear if you get hit by it I am going to be absolutely furious -"

Draco laughed, unable to help himself. Hearing her rushed advice - because she always, always had something to say - loosened the knot in his chest completely. She quietened at his amusement, settling against him with a familiarity that spoke volumes of their trust.

"Don't die." She pleaded. "I couldn't handle it if you died. You're my best friend and I...I just need you to promise me that you'll get through this alive."

The words sprung to the tip of his tongue, only for him to strangle them back. He pulled her closer. "You know I can't do that, Hermione." Because there was no guarantee that Draco would survive this challenge, and he could not promise her something he had no way of keeping.

"I know, I know. Can you at least say you'll try your best? I just need something to hold onto right now."

"You're holding on to me pretty tight."

It worked, she let out a watery laugh and stepped back, whacking him on the arm. "Not what I meant, you arse." Her grin wavered though as she stared up at him. "You will, won't you?"

He sighed lowly, reaching out to grab her hand and rub his thumb over the back of her palm. "I will absolutely try my best to stay alive. But you know the risks as well as I do."

Hermione looked down, a frown beginning to form. "I don't think that it's fair. You didn't even want to enter in the first place. If he hadn't made you -"

"Hey," he cut her off, "it was no one's choice but my own. I picked this. And I need you to accept that. If something happens to me in the challenges I need you to promise me that you won't hold it against my father. I need to know that you won't do something drastic."

He knew Hermione. He knew how her mind worked and how freely she let herself feel. She, in many ways, did not belong in a pureblood family. But to Draco, she was a symbol of everything he could never be.

Hermione bit her lip, scrutinising him with her sharp brown eyes. After a long moment, she nodded. "I promise, Draco."

He returned her grin, tugging her closer and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. "Wish me luck?"

She chuckled warmly, "Always. And tell Hadrian the same. I don't want either of you taking risks."

Draco held up his hands in defence. "I'll pass it along, but something tells me he's the type to jump headfirst into danger if he thinks it's necessary." He could see the disapproval on her face. "You had better head to the arena now. Wouldn't want all the good seats to be taken before you get there."

She squeezed his hand once, "Draco, I -"

"I know." He murmured softly, "Me too. Now off you go."

She disappeared around the side of the tent, heading towards where Draco could hear the dull rumble of hundreds of voices. He took a second to brush his hair back and went to re-enter the champions’ tent, and had to quickly move to avoid crashing into Evans' mother.

The woman's green eyes snapped up to trap his, and Draco almost shivered at the complete lack of regard they held for him. It was stark, the difference between the son and the mother. Where Evans' eyes were almost always bright with some flash of emotion, his mother was cold and merciless.

He wordlessly stepped aside to let her pass, breathing in relief when she strode off.

His own mother was gone when he looked around, so he headed towards Evans. The other boy was twirling his wand between his fingers in what might have been a nervous tick. He watched how the wand - laurel, if his memory served - weaved through the boy's fingers without fault.

"Ready?" Evans asked him, attention fixed on something on the other side of the tent. Draco snorted and crossed his arms.

"Yes. Are you?"

The French wizard shot him a slight smirk, "Hopefully. Dying sounds like such a tedious thing that I'd rather avoid it for as long as possible."

Draco hummed in agreement, following the other's line of sight to see Professor Riddle speaking adamantly with Kaiser. He frowned in confusion. "What's he doing here?"

Evans shrugged, his expression turning amused. "Wishing us luck? I doubt a man like him needs an excuse to go wherever he wants."

For a heart-stopping moment, Draco thought Evans had the same suspicions as him. For almost two years he had been pestered by the idea of who Riddle really was, but had never been brave enough to ask his father. The ominous suggestion sat heavily in the back of his mind during every Defence class.

However, Evans was looking at Riddle with something like fond annoyance, and he was sure that if the other suspected the same as Draco, then no such expression would be on his face.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Hadrian." Riddle had seen them, and with a pleasant smile that man was walking to them. Draco watched as Evans actually seemed to slouch in place, somehow both relaxed yet coil for attack. He had not missed the obvious difference in their names, nor the fact that over the previous week Professor Riddle and Evans seemed to have built quite the rapport between them.

"Sir." They both greeted him. Riddle shook their hands, first Draco, then Evans. "I know the upcoming task will be difficult for both of you, but I believe you are both fully capable of completing whatever lay ahead of you."

"Thank you, professor." Draco said graciously, bobbing his head. Evans repeated his sentiment, though carried the conversation on.

"Will you be watching today, sir?"

Riddle's eyes slid to Evans and stayed there. Draco studied them both with unguarded interest. "I will be in the crowd," he said with a smirk. "I expect a good show."

Evans scoffed, and Draco winced at the disrespectful noise. If his suspicion was correct about this man, then Evans was walking a very fine line at the moment. "You're in for a wild ride then. I always preform splendidly, sir."

The blond sucked in sharply at the borderline flirtatious comment. His eyes widened when Riddle grinned sharply at the French champion, looking entirely too amused for such a strict teacher. "I look forward to it then, Hadrian." He nodded at both of them and walked away.

The second Draco was positive the man was out of hearing range, he snapped his head to look down at the shorter male. "What was that?" he demanded.

Evans glanced up at him, appearing genuinely confused. "What was what?"

"You and Riddle." No reaction beyond a raised eyebrow. "You were...flirting with him."

Evans blinked up at him, incredulous. "Flirting?" He choked out a laugh. "That's just how we talk to each other. It's like a game, Draco."

He did not find that explanation comforting in the least. "And who's winning?"

Evans tilted his head thoughtfully, "You know, I do not actually know what the score would be. But it's just harmless fun. I have a firm 'no sleeping with professors' rule that I have done quite well sticking to." A glint of mischievousness came to those green eyes, and Draco warily leaned back.

"Though if I had to pick one, it might as well be him. I mean, have you seen what he looked like at our age?"

Draco grimaced, and the lustful expression on Evans' face morphed to teasing. "Don't get your panties in a bunch Draco. I am just trying to lighten the mood." The other champion rolled his eyes and gently shoved him in the shoulder.

And Draco, no matter how disturbing he found the idea - especially with the constant could he be? playing on his mind – had to admit that Evans had rather effortlessly reduced his budding tension once again.

That was a dangerous skill to have, being able to so easily manipulate how those around you were feeling with just your words.

Just as he was about to speak, several people bustled into the tent, headed by Yaxley. "Champions, please gather 'round. We have some things to discuss before we begin."

Once the three of them fell into place, Yaxley nodded and a short, stout wizard to come forward holding a small fabric bag. He held it out to Kaiser, "Please take out a token, Kaiser. It will determine which position you will be competing in." Kaiser reached in and plucked out a small wooden tile. The number two was printed in bold, black ink.

Evans was next, and his eyes flickered in irritation when they saw the thick number three staring up at him.

Draco swallowed, finding it pointless to do so, but reaching in and plucking out the only remaining tile when the wizard shoved the bag towards him. The number one had never looked so foreboding.

"Excellent," Yaxley turned to the man, "tell the handlers to prepare Mr. Malfoy's creature for the task." The wizard scrambled off, as if eager to escape the Headmaster. Draco could not exactly blame him, even after years of knowing Yaxley both as the head of his school, as well as a member of the Dark Lord's forces, he still found him unsettling.

"Now, champions." The Headmaster returned his gaze to them. "As you were informed two days ago, your job is quite simple." Draco felt, more than heard Evans snort, and had to admire the boy's gall. "You are to retrieve a single item from the arena, which will be placed upon a pole in the centre. You must do so while avoiding the dangers presented to you in the form of a different creature."

He gestured to Draco, "A Hungarian Horntail." Kaiser, "A pack of quintaped." Evans, "And a manticore."

They all nodded, well aware of this already.

"You will not be marked on how much damage you inflict on your beast. You will be marked on your speed at completing the task, as well as how effective the skills you utilise are. That being said," Yaxley's artic eyes pierced each of them. "rushing into this will only end in your death. Play it safe, don't take unnecessary risk, and for Merlin's sake don't die."

Comforting, Draco thought with almost hysterical amusement, the sentiment being echoed by his fellow champions judging from the looks on their faces.

"Once you have obtained the item - which provides a clue to the next task - the beasts will be subdued via a collar. This collar will pierce their skin and inject a serum that will knock them unconscious so they might be transferred. The moment you touch your item; the task is complete."

Having someone here, explaining the rules and objectives in such a monotonous, level voice quelled most of Draco's nerves. He took a breath and found himself able to focus better. He had a goal, he knew the weaknesses of a dragon, he could do this. They did not have to kill their creature, just dodge it long enough to get their item.

It made it infinitely easier, for all of them. Especially Evans though. If they had been expected to kill their beast, he would be faced with a virtually impossible challenge. Draco felt relieved on the other boy's behalf.

Yaxley scanned them closely, as if to see how seriously they were taking his words. When he was satisfied with their solemnity, he straightened and turned his eyes on Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you are up. Good luck."

Before Draco could move too far, Evans reached out and grasped his wrist. The blond looked at him sharply, and he knew there would be very real fear in his eyes. Evans swallowed, but cleared his throat. "Kick arse, alright?" He said sternly, and Draco rewards him with a brief flicker of a grin.

"You as well," the other let go of him. "after all, if you die today, this tournament will be infinitely more boring for me."

Evans nodded, amused. Though anxiety still bit into him as Yaxley escorted Draco out of the tent and towards the arena.

OoO

Claire watched coolly as the students around her spoke excitedly. The arena stands were absolutely brimming with people, and the noise was intolerable.

They should conduct themselves with more respect, she thought as she watched a handful of Hogwarts students jostle each other rowdily.

Thankfully, where she was seated, surrounded by her fellow Beauxbatons students, was relatively calm. Of course, there was still a palpable tension hanging over them, but they at least had the decency to remain seated and to converse only as loudly as they needed to be heard.

She was...anxious. Had been since Hadrian's name had been pulled from the goblet, but more so when his task was revealed to them.

A manticore. She did not know whether to laugh at the sheer bad luck of her friend, or cry in despair.

For the past week or so she had been helping him learn all he could about the creature, and their results were not encouraging. No matter how long they looked, or who they asked, or what they read, everything was always the same. There was not one, recorded or otherwise, account of a manticore being defeated by a witch or wizard. Nothing credible at least.

They had stumbled across the most famous myth, naturally, but this was Hadrian's life they were talking about here, and Claire was not one willing to gamble her marvellous friend on something as flimsy as an ancient tall-tale. They had stuck to it anyway, devouring any and all information they could, whether it was just theories, or an actual report.

Claire knew Hadrian was skilled, and she knew that if anyone could hold off one of the most dangerous creatures in their world long enough to complete his task, then it would be him.

But she still felt sick to her stomach. Because eventually, she would see Hadrian escorted into the rocky terrain below her and battle for his life, while she was forced to sit here and do nothing.

Her hands twisted nervously into her skirt. She would not be able to handle watching this. Hadrian was her best friend. He was so bright and magnetic and had a type of vibrancy that not many did. The thought of seeing his crumpled body on the floor of this arena had bile swiftly rising to her throat.

A hand clamped down onto hers, squeezing tightly.

Jolted from her thoughts, she looked to see Raina watching her with concern. Just seeing her friend's face had her relaxing marginally. Unlike her, Raina was the picture of calm. She did not seem bothered - though Claire knew she must be - and her body was reclined comfortably on the wooden seat.

"You need to stop it." The dark haired girl murmured, "Panicking over something we have no control over will not do you any good."

"I can't help it," Claire admitted, brushing some of her fringe from her eyes. "Just thinking about him down there, fighting something that dangerous..."

"I know," Raina said, eyes dropping to the arena. "this will most likely be unbearably difficult for us to watch. Hadrian is very talented, but there is still a high chance that something could happen to him. There is nothing we can do to help him. This is something he has to complete by himself, Claire. We can only assist so much, and ultimately, he will do it alone."

Raina returned her gaze to her. "That being said, you need to have more faith in him. Hadrian will succeed in this. I have never met a more determined individual. He is not one to lay down and die so easily. He has been studying independently for many years by this point, and I have no doubt that he has much more in his arsenal than he has shown us."

She smiled at Claire, patting her hands. "He will be fine, Claire."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the order of the champions has been chosen. First challenger will be Draco Malfoy -" Hogwarts burst in applause. "- followed by Galiana Kaiser -" Durmstrang cheered, "- and Hadrian Evans." The two girls joined in as their section screamed their support.

"Please remain seated while the first creature is brought in."

The buzz hanging over the crowd stilled, as a large cage was teleported into the arena. Several masked wizards stood beside it, their wands pointed at the stands.

With a synchronised chant, something shimmered into existence over the arena, creating a bright silver bubble that capped the rocky terrain and separated the stands from the arena. It stretched upwards, before disappearing from view, leaving their view unobstructed.

Likely the height was to allow the dragon some mobility, but not enough room to fly.

"Smart idea," Raina muttered, "the last thing they want is a spectator getting caught in the crossfire. Especially with so many distinguished guests."

They watched with no small amount of fascination as the cage was opened. For a long moment, nothing happened. And then, with a burst of violent fire, the Hungarian Horntail launched itself from its cage with an ear-splitting roar of pure rage.

Raina actually flinched back, but Claire observed how the masked wizards quickly vanished the cage and slipped out of the arena and out of the range of the angered creature.

The Horntail prowled around the arena for many minutes, snarling and breathing molten fire at everything. The flames hit the boundary and dissipated though, much to the relief of everyone in the stands.

Raina released the breath she had been holding. "Malfoy is in for a treat."

Claire reached out and grasped her friend's hand again, seeking any form of support. Raina gripped her back with equal force, revealing her own nerves.

"Hadrian will be fine." Claire said, like a mantra.

"Hadrian will be fine." Raina repeated, as if to reaffirm their belief in the statement.

OoO

Hadrian stood in place for a moment longer after Draco had left, before turning and claiming the closest bed as his own for the duration of the day. He was not comfortable enough to actually lay down and close his eyes, and he tapped his wand against his thigh absently.

He was trying not to show it - but he was fucking terrified. The last week had gone by so quickly, a mess of studying and panicking as he crammed as much information into his head as he could in his remaining time. He knew all he could about manticores and their abilities, was as prepared as he was ever going to be - and yet he still felt like he had no chance at succeeding.

It had been such relief when, two days ago, he had been told that he would not have to actually kill a manticore. He might be talented, but even he had his limits. Killing such a creature would be next to impossible for a whole squad of highly trained witches and wizards. For a student - no matter how magically powerful, or intelligent - it was a death sentence.

All he had to do was get to the item and the creature would no longer be an issue. While defeating the manticore was most definitely out of his league, outmanoeuvring and evading was a skill he had long ago honed.

He was glad he had spent so long as a seeker right now. His reflexes had always been impeccable, and years of having opposing beaters brutally targeting him with bludgers had only improved his ducking and weaving in and out of attacks.

While a manticore was ridiculously more dangerous than a bludger, the basic principle was still the same. As long as he was quick, stayed on his toes, and did not let himself get distracted then he could do this.

Maybe.

He scowled in irritation and pushed the doubt away before it could take root and spread like an infection. The last thing he needed to do was unnerve himself.

Hadrian sighed quietly and made a pointed effort to put his wand away.

He half wished his mother was still here. His time with her just a handful of minutes ago did not seem like enough. He wanted to hold her and listen to her soft, encouraging murmurs. But at the same time, he was glad that she was gone. As soothing as her presence was, what she represented would only drive him into a frenzy.

He did not need to be reminded just what hinged on him surviving this, and despite her best attempts, he could still read the fear in her eyes. Fear for his life. Fear for him failing. Fear for their sixteen-year long plan going up in flames.

It was frustrating, and he did not need that right now.

Hadrian held his breath and counted to ten, let it out, then repeated again and again until his heart rate had returned to normal.

He could hear Galiana pacing just a little bit away from him, and beyond her soft muttering, the dim sound of a very large crowd. He had only caught a glimpse of the arena itself before he was essentially tossed in here with the other two, but it was huge.

Enough room to house all the students, plus faculty and the numerous politicians.

Plenty of people to watch us get killed, he thought bitterly.

He wanted to be able to watch Draco - and later Galiana - do the task. It would ease his mind, being able to see the other two compete, and get a feel for the look and atmosphere of the arena before he was quite literally thrust into it with a creature. Then again, he was supremely happy that he did not have to. He had no idea how he would react to watching the other two compete.

While it would give him a good view into their abilities and how well they handled themselves in stressful situations, he could not afford to let himself be phased by someone else's match. He needed to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to face.

Which brought him to another problem. He was last. If he had to pick a spot, second would have been good - the safe middle-ground. The uncertainty of being up first would be over, and the nerves would not have as much time to build for the last. It figured that the one champion he did not get along with got the place he wanted.

Hadrian cracked his eyes open and watched Galiana pace. Despite their rather spiteful relationship, he did wish that he could give her some comfort. No one deserved to have to sit here waiting in perpetual dread, even someone as vicious and petty as her.

He knew that anything he tried would be spat back in his face though, so he remained silent as she moved back and forth, eyes tracking her for lack of anything better to do.

She noticed his attention eventually, and sneered at him. "What are you looking at, mudblood?"

He rolled his eyes and moved his gaze to the roof of the tent. "Nothing in particular. Your pacing is annoying, sit down before you tire yourself out."

"I do not need to listen to advice from someone like you."

He shrugged, "Well, last time I checked, I am the top student at my school, and have been doing better than you in all the subjects we share." His green eyes cut to her, "By a significant margin."

Hadrian had not intended to aggravate her, but there was just something distinctly unlikeable about Galiana Kaiser, and it made his theoretical hackles bristle.

Whatever, no doubt scintillating, reply she had was cut off by a sharp roar.

Hadrian's head snapped around in the direction of the arena, eyes narrowing when the dragon's roar was echoed by the screams of the crowd. The noise had not been particularly panicked, from what he could tell. It was more like excitement.

He relaxed his tensed muscles and returned to staring at the canvas wall in front of him.

Draco must have done something good then.

He just prayed that the blond continued to do well.

Hadrian traced his fingers over his sleeve, feeling the smooth fabric and turning his mind firmly away from the spectacle occurring just a little away from him.

The uniform he was in was primarily black, and made of a sturdy, lightweight material. The pleasant blue and gold accents that ran along the edges and up his sides brought him a small amount of comfort. He always associated blue and gold with peace, since most of his childhood had been spent surrounded by them, and it broke the heaviness of his attire.

Over his shirt he had an unzipped vest, with the crest of Beauxbatons embroidered on the left breast, so finely done he could not even see the individual stitches. From the look and feel of it, it was reinforced with dragonhide and there to provide more solid protection for his chest.

Considering the creature he was going to be facing, he would have liked a little more for his arms and legs.

"Do you think he will win?"

Hadrian tilted his head to cast his eyes at Galiana. The witch was not looking at him, though he could tell her attention was zeroed in on him.

He was surprised she was willing to even start a conversation with him, though he supposed since they were the only two here, and there was nothing really here to distract them from their ominous thoughts but each other, it was not all that shocking.

He sighed, and shrugged again. "Honestly? I have no clue. Hungarian Horntails are quite dangerous, but above all, they are smart. Draco will be fine as long as he stays sharp. One wrong move though and...well."

She pursed her lips, eyes frosty as she finally looked at him. "You disgust me." She said plainly, and the sheer bluntness had him smiling slightly. "I have made that no secret, however," something flickered on her face. "I...would not wish a manticore on anyone. Not even a mudblood."

Hadrian dipped his head in acknowledgement of her unsaid words. "Quintapeds are not exactly a walk in the park," he said quietly. "but thank you."

Galiana nodded once and turned her face away from him again.

For the next twenty minutes, they sat in silence, only broken by the piercing roars of the dragon, and the cries of the spectators.

Finally, though, someone entered the tent.

Yaxley looked directly at Galiana, "Kaiser. You're up."

The girl in question stood and moved to the exit. Hadrian looked at Yaxley. "Sir?" The Headmaster turned to him, no expression on his face.

"What is it, Evans?"

"Draco, how did he go?"

Yaxley stared at him stoically for a long beat, as if evaluating the benefits of telling him. Hadrian knew the blond must be alive, for only minutes earlier there had been a great surge of applause. But alive did not necessarily mean uninjured.

"Mr. Malfoy succeed in his task, only suffering burns to his back and left leg. He is receiving medical treatment now."

Hadrian breathed out in relief. "Thank you, Headmaster."

Yaxley grunted, cast him one more tense look, before slipping out with Galiana a step behind him.

Alone, Hadrian put his head in his hands and started counting down from one thousand in Spanish to clear his thoughts.

Sometime in the next half hour - if Draco's time was anything to go with - he would be marched into the arena himself.

I will be fine, just stick to the plan. Evade. Dodge. Be quick, but not rash. Be smart, but don't overcomplicate things. Watch out for the tail. It takes about one minute for blood to circulate through the body and back to the heart. One hit, one minute to deal with the poison. The faster my heart beats, the less time I have to get rid of it. I need to remain calm and keep my heart rate steady.

He closed his eyes.

Ignore the crowd. Ignore the noise. Ignore my friends and mother. Ignore Voldemort. None of them matter the second I set foot in the arena. They are distractions. Distractions lead to mistakes and mistakes lead to death. Complete the task, get the item and get out. The manticore will no longer be an issue once I have the item.

Hadrian took a deep breath and straightened from his hunched position.

I will be fine.

A long time passed before he was disturbed again.

Hadrian looked up when the tent flap was once again pulled open. He was on his feet before he even registered Yaxley's face. "Kaiser passed," he informed him succinctly, before he could open his mouth. "though the quintapeds managed to take quite a few chunks out of her."

Hadrian grimaced at the thought of being eaten by a pack of the carnivorous little creatures. "Your turn, Evans. Follow me."

The dark haired boy took one last glance around the tent, before slipping out of the tent just as Draco and Galiana had before him. Yaxley led him through the grounds and towards the arena. Hadrian's original glimpse of it did not prepare him for the actual sight of the construction.

He could hear the dull roar of the crowd over the pounding in his ears, and swallowed his spiking fear, beating it down into submission.

Yaxley led him into a small side-section of the arena, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder. The Headmaster guided him further, the empty hallways amplifying the noise from above them. And over that, he could hear something else. Heavy footsteps.

The manticore was already in the arena then.

Hadrian removed his gaze from the hallway ceiling when they entered another room.

Immediately, his eyes locked with crimson. Out of instinct, his feet dug in for a split second before he continued forward. He had forgotten that he still had his bracelet on. Voldemort would have to remove it before he was allowed to go fight.

He stopped just in front of the Dark Lord, looking up at him blankly. Voldemort studied him just as closely, before the man held out his hands expectantly.

Hadrian wordlessly handed over his left wrist, tugging his sleeve back to reveal the silver snake ensnaring his arm.

Even with the fear and uncertainty of the upcoming battle, he still listened avidly to the Parseltongue command as it slithered from the Dark Lord's mouth. Hadrian might not be able to understand Parseltongue, but with enough practise, he might be able to repeat certain phrases - such as the ones his bracelet answered to.

He committed the hisses to memory, resolved to study them later if he survived. It would be useful to be able to remove the device if he ever needed to.

At Voldemort's voice, the snake bracelet became alive, and unwound itself from Hadrian's wrist, pooling itself in the man's own hand.

There was a small twist to the Dark Lord's lips when the small line of runes became visible, before Hadrian was pulling his sleeve down again and covering the damning marks. He was not particularly concerned if Voldemort figured out how he was messing with his listening charm, but he was not going to let the man see the lines long enough to come up with his own countermeasure.

"Best of luck, Mr. Evans." The Dark Lord said, standing straight and gazing down at him oddly. Hadrian bit his tongue to stop any negative comments from escaping him.

"Thank you." He replied stiffly.

"Headmaster, I believe it is time for our final champion to compete. Please bring Mr. Evans to the gate. I will go announce the news."

Yaxley bowed as Voldemort swept passed him, not even glancing at the man. Hadrian wanted to gag at the servient gesture, and the dismissive nature of the man himself. If he demanded such things from his subordinates, he could at least grace them with a look while they did it.

Once again, Yaxley seized his shoulder and took him out of the room, through a different door then the one Voldemort had used. The hallways they were in next was a lot lighter, and towards the end Hadrian could spot a barred opening.

His gut clenched and it was only his sheer focus that prevented him from stumbling.

This was it.

The Headmaster let him go when they were at the gate, and Hadrian immediately started scanning what he could see of the arena. He ignored the people in the stands, instead cataloguing the rocky ground.

Plenty of cover at least, but it might be difficult to manoeuvre quickly enough. I will have to watch were I put my feet. Some of the rocks look loose.

He could not spot the manticore yet, but Hadrian knew it was in there, waiting for him.

"Good luck, Evans." Yaxley muttered, actually going so far as to give him a solid pat on the shoulder, before the man was gliding back the way they had come.

Hadrian closed his eyes and breathed deeply, calming himself as best he could.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have our third, and final champion."

The crowd hushed, and Hadrian opened his eyes the second he heard the bars begin to move.

He waited until the gate was fully open before taking his first tentative steps into the arena. The rocks shifted under his boots, the noise piercing the quiet of the arena.

The silence was disturbing.

If this were any other creature, Hadrian would suspect that it had yet to notice his arrival. But this was a manticore, and all evidence pointed to this creature being astoundingly intelligent, and understanding human speech perfectly well.

It would already know what was happening. It would be well aware of what his task was, and it would have known instantly the second he was in here.

Hadrian carefully cast his eyes around, searching for the faintest hint as to the creature’s whereabouts.

He paused only a metre into the arena, frowning to himself. If he wanted to beat this creature, he had to put himself in its shoes.

If he knew an enemy would be approaching him, how would he go about defeating them?

Well, that was easy. Set a trap. Wait for the opportune moment to strike, when the back was turned -

Hadrian leaped forward, landed in a roll and sprung to his feet a good distance from the entrance. In the place he had been standing mere seconds ago, was now a large stinger, embedded in the rocks.

His green eyes followed up the dark, armoured tail to the magnificent furred body of a large lion, until he rested his gaze on a face that was a mockery of a human. There was a lazy grin on the manticore's lips as it lounged on the outcrop just above where he had entered.

With a single flick of its tail, the stinger came loose. It curled its tail back up around its body and studied him with intense eyes. Aware eyes.

Its mouth opened, revealing rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth, and then - it spoke.

"Ready to play, little human?"

Chapter Text

Hadrian bent his knees as he watched the creature.

It was large, though not as big as he had been expecting, and he was sure that on all fours it would only be a handful of inches taller than him.

And its voice – every single note and report that he had read about these creatures had told him that it would be booming, like a trumpet. But instead, it was soft and pleasant, almost like a croon.

He could feel his intrigue bubbling to the surface. There was just something undeniably beautiful about the manticore, and it awoke the part of him that always reared its head when he was confronted with something interesting that he had yet to pick apart and evaluate.

This was an unprecedented chance for him to get information directly from the source. Manticores were a secretive species, and were incredibly difficult to find in the wild. It made Hadrian wonder how this one came to be here.

But was it worth the risk?

No.

The answer was instant and stanch. No matter how rare or valuable a piece of information was, he knew it was not worth his life. So with a resigned sigh, he let go of all notions of satisfying his curiosity.

As he thought to himself, the manticore’s tail twitched and swayed in a lethargic motion. Considering the structure of it, he would not have thought the movement would be as smooth as it was.

It tilted its head at him, as if to ask well?

“I’ve always enjoyed games.” He called back cautiously in response.

If he played this right, maybe he would not even have to fight it? Manticores were highly intelligent creatures, relying on their quick minds as much as their brute strength. He could try appealing to its wit.

It smiled at him again, the expression disturbing as it was too stretched, and there were too many teeth. Hadrian refused to cower even though the sight of those gleaming white fangs had his stomach rolling with unease.

“What should we play, then?” It asked, its claws scrapped against the rocks it was laying on. “I have always been partial to tag, myself.”

Despite the very real danger he was in, Hadrian could still feel his lips twist upwards at its words. He had always had a rather grim sense of humour, and it seemed so did the creature in front of him. “I don’t suppose you would consider just – letting me take my item without a fight?”

It huffed at him, and even with the distance between them he could feel the hot breath fan over him. “Where is the fun in that?”

It finally pushed itself to its feet, graceful and deadly. Hadrian tensed reflexively, unable to stop himself from reacting to seeing such a dangerous creature stand to its full height. “This is the most interesting thing to happen to me in the last three decades.”

Three decades?

“I do not particularly fancy the idea of fighting you.” Hadrian admitted truthfully. He saw no reason to hide that fact, seeing as there was nothing shameful about fear. “And you probably want to avoid being hurt.”

That was a guess, but he was pretty sure that most beings would actively evade something that was potentially hazardous to their life. There was always the rare exception to that rule, however he doubted the manticore was the type to endanger itself.

He watched as its eyes drifted from his face to his right hand, where his wand was held aloof.

Its expression turned amused, eyes crinkling. “Your little stick will be of no use to you here.” It said, sounding remarkable smug. “You cannot touch me.”

He felt like he should be insulted, however he was unfortunately well aware of how ineffective his magic was right now. That being said – just because most magic would bounce off the manticore, did not mean that he could not harm it.

There was a thin line between confidence and arrogance – he would know, seeing as he skirted it every day of his life – and the creature was already blinded by its on supposed invulnerability.

Even with the fragile hope that he could avoid a confrontation altogether, plans began to form in his mind. Some discarded almost immediately due to severe risk, other tucked away for further development as the circumstances unfolded.

He knew that for such a precarious situation it would be better to only have a loose strategy, to give him more manoeuvrability depending on what the manticore did, or in case of unforeseen complications arising.

“What will you even get out of beating me?” He asked, to buy himself more time to think and consider his options.

Appeal to its ego. Make it seem like I already know I won’t win. It might just give me an edge.

The manticore positively preened. “Entertainment.” It told him, “Captivity is so incredibly dull for me. You little vermin are so boring, your experiments yielded no results, and none of you are smart enough to amuse me for long.”

Its eyes gleamed eerily, and Hadrian did not like the way its stare pinned him in place. Though this did answer a few of his questions.

Captivity. For thirty years, if what it said was accurate – not terribly long when compared to the suspected lifespan of a manticore, but long enough to leave its mark. It certainly explained how easily they had managed to find one and ship it here.

It also told him why the creature was even speaking to him. He had expected a frontal assault as soon as he stepped inside, and while that did occur to an extent, Hadrian felt like that was more of a warning strike than anything.

It was bored. He was something new and fun to play around with.

Which means, he thought with a small smirk, it won’t go for the kill right away. It will drag this out, so long as I don’t piss it off too quickly.

He met the heavy gaze of the creature. Perfect.

The longer the manticore took to attack him seriously, with the intent to end him, the longer he had to think his way around the problem. And that was all he needed.

Hadrian was aware that he had to complete this within half an hour, if he wanted to be even close to the others’ times. He had already wasted a good five minutes just conversing with the manticore, which meant that if it made no move to attack him soon, he would have to strike first.

He also needed time to survey the arena better. From the gate he had not had a clear view of where the pole and his item were, and now, with his back to the rest of the area, he still had not had the chance to do so.

He was not stupid enough to turn his back to the creature to try it now, either. So he needed to somehow reverse their positions, or find a spot where he could get a better picture of what his surroundings were.

Hadrian took a deep breath, calming his mind. He adjusted his stance, balancing on the balls of his feet in preparation to move.

Readying his wand, Hadrian waited patiently. “I will have to give you a show then.”

The manticore noted his change immediately, and bared its teeth at him fiercely.

There was a beat, and then suddenly the creature was there.

Hadrian reacted without conscious thought, spinning out of the way and behind an outcrop of rocks. The manticore soared passed him, landing in a crouch towards the middle of the arena, twisting around to stare at him, a growl reverberating through the air.

The crowd screamed their approval.

With his back to something solid, Hadrian wasted no time in leaping forward, fire bursting from the tip of his wand and flooding the arena. The blue and white flames rolled into themselves, taking on the form of a dragon’s head.

It would have no effect on the creature, he knew that. The spell was merely a diversion.

The fiery apparition’s jaws clamped over the manticore, covering the creature from head to toe and for a few short seconds, blinding it completely.

“Augete petram.” He murmured, wand slashing upwards through the air. Immediately, spikes of rock sprung from underneath the manticore. The tips pricked the soft padding on the creature’s feet, not sharp enough to break the skin but enough to cause discomfort.

With a snarl, the manticore was forced to leap away.

Hadrian smiled grimly at the move, pleased that at least something in his studies had helped.

Impervious to magic they may be, but manticores were not completely immune to physical attacks. Throwing spells and charms would be of no use to him here, unless they somehow manipulated the physical matter surrounding them.

By using the natural environment, he would at least have a chance of fighting off the creature long enough to make a grab for the item.

He had to be careful though. Just because he could toss a couple of rocks at it, did not mean that it would necessarily be hurt. Manticore skin was likely as tough – if not tougher – than dragonhide, and could withstand any number of beatings. He had to aim for the less protected parts, such as the paws, if he wanted to cause any harm.

There was dark amusement in its eyes when it locked onto him again, as if he had somehow exceeded its expectations. Hadrian kept his back firmly to the formation behind him, tracking the creature as it skulked along the edge of the arena.

He resisted the urge to find more suitable shelter, knowing that if he moved, the manticore would be on him in a heartbeat.

He narrowed his eyes when the creature paused in its slow crawl, head snapping to face him directly. The manticore’s mouth opened, and Hadrian only had time for his eyes to widen before gales of harsh wind were spewing forth.

“Protego!” He snapped, the shield bursting to life before him and taking the brunt of the attack. He gritted his teeth as he pitted his own will against the sheer power behind the wind.

Slowly but surely, he could feel himself being pushed backwards, back crushing into the rocks behind him. If he kept this up any longer he would end up being flattened.

Deciding to take a chance, he jumped from his place, his shield collapsing.

He barely avoided the torrents of sharp wind, and landed with a grunt on the uneven ground. He had no time to stop though, for the manticore followed his movements, and without a break, the attack curved to him again.

Cursing, Hadrian pushed himself to his feet and sprinted hard. His arms pumped at his sides, and he could feel his clothing beginning to snag as the gales nipped at his heels. He ducked behind the first available outcrop and hunched over to catch his breath.

His hand rested on the rocks, able to feel them shuddering under the force of the elemental attack, though he could hear the wind cutting into the stone, it was doing marginally better than his shield had. Hadrian knew he would have to move if he wanted to avoid having the thing explode from the pressure though.

No one said anything about elemental magic!

He gritted his teeth, furious that such a power had not once been hinted at. How could no one – in the previous centuries – have discovered this? It seemed like a pretty significant ability to have.

How had no one ever stumbled across this? Why was it not documented? Could all manticore use elemental attacks? Or was it a rare trait only a handful could possess?

He almost started laughing at his fortune.

And the infamous Potter luck strikes again.

He had never really believed his mother when she would tell him of how much trouble his father managed to get into over the years. She would occasionally – when the memories were not too consuming for her – recount certain events, hands tugging gently though his hair and whispering stories of pranks and duels and other mishaps.

“I honestly have no idea whether the ‘Potter’s luck’ is a good thing or not.” She had admitted to him once, a soft smile on her lips. “Your father was always getting into situations he shouldn’t have, misfortune always followed him. And yet, he always managed to get out of it, somehow.”

She had grinned down at him lovingly, as if sharing a secret. “I think that’s what he meant by ‘Potter’s luck’, Harry. No matter how horrible things were for him, his luck always carried him through. After all, you can’t spell ‘misfortune’ without ‘fortune’.”

He discarded the memory of his mother, from years before she had even told him of the role he would play one day – back when he did not feel the crushing responsibility of saving an entire country from a madman on his shoulders.

Hadrian lowered himself, eyes scanning the area around him for the next place he could use for cover. He finally decided on one about ten metres away. It was not the closest, but it was the thickest he could spot.

He waited for the last possible second – when fissure began to form in his current protection and it cracked ominously – before shooting off. He darted between the other rocks, and finally slid behind his target.

His previous hiding place exploded, and he could feel the broken pieces rain down on him. He absently shook the few shards out of his hair.

From here, he had a better view of the rest of the space. He peeked out as far as he dared and scanned for the pole.

It took him a few moments, but his gaze eventually found it.

Atop an island, less than fifty metres away, there was a solitary metal pole jutting out from the ground. It was a washed out grey, and when he squinted he could just make out a small wooden box chained to it.

He bit his lip, calculating the best route to take to reach it.

With the manticore bearing down on him as it was, he did not have a chance at making it there before it got him.

Hadrian sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing the sweaty locks out of his eyes.

The beat of the harsh gales against his outcrop died off, and instantly he was on guard. He had no idea where the manticore was now, and he was not willing to try and check lest it launched another attack at him.

“Speculo.” He said, and a small mirror appeared in front of him. With his wand, he guided the object up over his head and used it to get a look at what was going on.

He could not see it, and that made him anxious. There were not many places large enough to shield the manticore from view in the arena.

Not unless this one can disillusion itself as well. He thought bitterly. He continued to tilt the mirror, painstakingly searching for even a hint of red fur or scorpion tail.

It was likely attempting to sneak up on him. He was not prey dammit – except, a small part of him could not help but remind him that ‘manticore’ literally translated to ‘man-eater’.

He very much did not enjoy the sensation of being hunted, and it was only worse because it knew exactly where he was, and could most likely smell him –

Fucking hell, why didn’t I think of that earlier.

“Abscondere odorem.” He hissed, tapping his wand on the crown of his head and enduring the phantom feeling of water trickling over him.

Hadrian vanished the mirror when it failed to give him a clue, and quickly scanned the crowd, following the direction their eyes were pointed. Many were looking at him, but some were focussed off to his left, eyes fixating on something with disturbing glee.

He swung his attention in that direction, trying to hear passed the noise of the spectators for the tell-tale shifting of rocks.

He raised his wand, prepared for the next attack, but unlike before, there was no elemental blast. Instead, a shadow fell over him, and Hadrian’s head tilted upwards just in time to see the stinger reach over the rock formation and jab at him with lightning speed.

He pushed himself to the side, dodging the venomous tip by centimetres. He moved backwards as the manticore rounded the outcrop and came after him.

The stinger swiped at him again, forcing him to duck, then wrench himself away as a clawed paw almost ripped through his chest.

“You are fast, human.” It acknowledged with a horrible purr. It sounded oddly approving, and Hadrian was reminded that for all the separate animals it was made out of, the manticore was primarily a cat. “And smarter than the others.”

It sniffed deeply, nostril flaring as it tasted the air. “Eliminating your scent was clever, though not clever enough.”

It leapt at him again, and Hadrian, in the face of that overwhelming speed, could do nothing but brace himself as he was slammed harshly to the ground. The manticore loomed over him, head pressing close.

He could distantly hear the screams echoing around them, his name being called shrilly by dozens.

However, it did not kill him.

The manticore’s mouth opened over him, teeth so close he could almost feel them brush against his body, and the smell was horrendous – like that of rotten meat. Saliva dripped down, landing on his cheek. It was hot and felt like it would blister his skin as it rolled down his neck.

He shivered at the feel of that thick substance.

“Curious.” It whispered to him, a paw coming up to press on his chest and keep him pinned. The weight had him gasping. “Before, I could see it in your eyes. Now – now you do not seem afraid even trapped as you are.”

“Because I’m not.” He bit out, and with a twitch of his wand, a rock flew and crashed into the manticore’s unguarded side.

The creature was shoved off of him, and sent stumbling a few feet away, snarling loudly.

Hadrian was on his feet and moving the moment the pressure on his chest was gone. Without looking he sent anything – everything – hurtling towards the creature behind him. Rocks, fire, water. Anything that delayed it for even a second was worth it.

Something caught his eye, just ahead of him, and he grinned as a plan erupted to life in his head.

He spun on his heel, turning just long enough to aim and shout, “Incarcerous vinculum!” Heavy chains appeared around him and launched at the manticore, wrapping around it and dragging it down.

That would not hold it, he knew. Already he could hear the sounds of the chain links shattering.

He only needed a few more seconds.

When he reached the crack in the arena floor, he wasted no time in jumping down into it, disappearing from view.

The rocks scraped harshly against him as he squeezed himself down into the gap, panting and leaning tiredly on the wall. He looked above him, and was pleased to see that there was no way the manticore would be able to fit a paw through the crack entrance, or for the stinger to follow him.

He was safe for now. Which meant he could finally start to plan.

Hadrian closed his eyes.

He had meant what he said only a few moments before. Though the manticore was outrageously dangerous, he was not particularly afraid right now. In the heat of this, his fear had shrivelled like a raisin in the sun and allowing him to work unhindered.

The adrenaline coursing through him probably had something to do with that as well. His heart was hammering in his ribcage, though it was more from the running then anything else.

He regulated his breathing to try and calm down, letting his mind go.

He had to reach the pole, but with the manticore well aware of his task, there was no way it would allow him to get close. So far, it had been smart and forced him to stay confined along the edges of the arena, never giving him a moment to make a break for it.

It seemed content to just stalk after him, and he knew it was only playing with him at the moment. It was just another downside to fighting a creature this intelligent.

The dragon and quintapeds probably had some inkling as to what was going on, but were most likely more focussed on the fact that there was an intruder in their territory. The manticore had likely overheard the handler speaking of the task and already had its own plan in place.

It was frustrating, but undeniably exciting at the same time.

I’m getting off-track. Focus.

So, he needed a way to get around it long enough to get to the pole and put it down.

By eliminating his scent, he had taken its nose out of the equation, but the manticore likely had superior hearing at its disposal, so mere flashy distractions were not going to work.

He sighed, head falling back against the rocks.

Was he positive that there was no actual way to kill a manticore? He hated the thought, but if he had too…

A small red book flashed through his mind, and Hadrian’s eyes narrowed. He had read through Éric’s book two nights after he had been confronted by the man; having honestly forgotten about it until then.

There were a great number of myths in the section about manticores, though one in particular had caught his attention.

If one were to show a manticore its reflection and it would turn to stone.

He had dismissed it at the time, because that myth had been disproven many years ago by a group of explorers who had swiftly been eaten by the very creature they had been documenting. But that was not the part that was clawing at him.

Mirror. Reflection. Twin.

Could he…

It would take a lot out of him…but it might actually…

Hadrian grinned, taking his wand and quickly summoning a stick of chalk. With precise movements only achieved with years of practise, he drew the runes he needed, creating as even a circle as he could on the rough rock wall in front of him.

Hadrian connected the final two symbols, and drew the star sign for ‘twins’ in the centre. He cast a critical eye over the drawing, searching for any mistakes that might cause this to literally blow up in his face.

Runes were dangerous for that very reason. One wrong line, one incorrect symbol, and suddenly you could be missing a limb. It had never happened to him, and he had no desire to start a trend now.

Satisfied, he stepped back, and created a shallow cut on his palm. Hadrian pressed his bleeding hand onto the chalk symbol, and in response, his magic rose and began to channel into the rock.

He grimaced as the symbol began to glow softly, shaking lightly as more and more of his magic was absorbed into the mark. He had never done this ritual before, and he knew in theory that it took a substantial amount of magic to work; but having his magic drained at such an alarming rate was far more unpleasant than he had anticipated.

It was worth it though, when the ritual finished and he could slump backwards. He watched with no small amount of interest as an outline began to form, before the shape solidified and it peeled itself out of the wall.

The figure shimmered uncertainly, then its features became clear.

The two shared a smile at the success.

“Ready?” he asked it.

The doppelgänger shrugged, “I guess. You alright?”

Hadrian winced, “As well as I can be considering you just took half my magic. I will be fine.”

He picked up a random rock and tapped it with his wand. In its place now sat a simple, silver dagger. He held it out to the doppelgänger, and watched as his artificial twin tucked it into his belt.

“Remember. As long as you can.”

The other-him snorted, “I know the plan, I do not need you hovering like an annoying mother hen. You should trust yourself more.” It smirked at him, crossing its arms confidently. “I’ll take the manticore, you go end this. I will only last for a short amount of time, considering the amount of energy I will be using and that you did not use a sacrifice; so you’d best be quick about it.”

“I know.” Hadrian snapped. He was the one who cast the spell after all.

It was borderline Dark magic, creating a doppelgänger. There were several variations of the ritual, and depending on how long you wanted the doppelgänger around depended on what you used to create it. There were stories of these things existing for up to two years, with the use of a human sacrifice.

He would no doubt face some uncomfortable questions when he got out of this thing, but he could handle any unnecessary attention. The version he was using only required a small dose of blood anyway, so it was not like he was doing anything particularly horrific.

Besides, he doubted that in a country ruled by someone like Voldemort, using this ritual would get him in trouble.

The doppelgänger leaned back and tsked at him, “Testy.” It murmured mockingly.

Hadrian scowled at it, “Just go do your job already, we need to get this over with.”

It rolled its eyes, but obediently started to pull itself up towards the gap entrance. “Make it look good,” he called after it. “and aim well, you have one shot.”

His doppelgänger glanced back down at him, grinning. “Don’t we always look good? And trust me, one shot is all I need.”

With that, it slipped out.

Hadrian groaned quietly, marvelling at how he had gone so long without anyone giving into the temptation to punch him; before disillusioning himself. He waited almost a minute – during which he heard chaos erupt above him – before pulling himself out.

He took a moment to glance at his doppelgänger, nodding in approval when he saw it leading the manticore back the way they had come, taunts thrown through the air with abandon. With each rude comment, the manticore grew more violent, and more enraged as none of its hits landed.

Hadrian started his way towards the pole, moving slowly so as to not alert the manticore that something was wrong.

He picked his way to the raised island, scrambling his way up the side.

A sudden scream had him freezing, and he looked behind him in panic, thinking the manticore was on him.

He sighed in relief when he saw it was only his doppelgänger being clawed across the chest and sent crashing to the ground. Even at this distance, he could make out the smirk on its lips, despite it coughing harshly, blood dripping down its chin.

Hadrian rolled his eyes at the overdramatic way it collapsed to the ground, thinking that for something that was essentially a magic-imbued pile of rocks, it was enjoying this far too much. Shaking his head, he continued his way up the island, ignoring the way the crowd was screeching in fear as the manticore once again pinned its prey to the ground.

As he pulled himself to the top of the island he bent over, taking a moment to recover his breath.

A smile wove onto his face as he looked up to see the little wooden box before him. To think, without a single scratch on him, he had actually done this.

A shriek filled the arena.

Hadrian spun to see the manticore rear back from his sitting doppelgänger, blood spraying from its eye. The silver dagger sticking out from the socket and glinting in the sun.

The noise from the creature’s mouth continued to rise until it became thunderous, and Hadrian slapped his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to protect himself.

Gods, he had never heard such a pain-filled cry in his life. Bile rose in his throat when he realised it was because of him.

This creature – this magnificent, beautiful, superior being was in pain because of him.

Hadrian had always held magical creatures in high regard, and had never understood the lingering pureblood ideals that witches and wizards were somehow better.

Some of these creatures had such advanced societies. They had belief systems, and hierarchies, and understood the importance of cooperation. To him, witches and wizards were the more despicable ones. They were the only ones that actively sought their own destruction, the ones that were incapable of rising above their base impulses.

Magical creatures deserved to be praised and revered, and he had shoved a blade through the eye of one of the most incredible beings in their world.

The manticore stopped its backwards scramble, standing in place as shudders ran through it. The air was thrumming with the echoes of its cry.

There was a heart-stopping moment of absolute silence, before it tilted its head back and screeched again, this time in rage.

It was done playing around.

Faster than anyone could follow, it swiped at the doppelgänger, claws slicing through the flesh and covering the ground with vibrant red.

The doppelgänger landed on the ground, eyes glassy and chest shredded.

The manticore roared at its triumph while the spectators descended into anarchy.

Hadrian lowered his arms and studied the grotesque scene of his own dead body.

And then – the doppelgänger shimmered and disappeared, leaving only a pile of rocks laying innocently in its place.

The manticore stepped back in surprise, cheated from its victory, and eye swinging around as it tried to understand where its prey truly was.

Hadrian cancelled his disillusionment charm, and met the creature’s gaze evenly when it spotted him. He had never seen such hatred directed at him before, and it left him shaken and cold. It flew at him with a snarl.

Wordlessly, he reached out and placed his hand on the item.

Something flashed through the manticore’s remaining eye before it dropped to the arena floor, mere metres from him.

Hadrian took a trembling breath, stepping away from the unconscious being and swallowing harshly when he finally caught sight of the injury.

It was horrific, and he had no idea if the damage would be permanent. Blood caked over the manticore’s face, distorting its features and painting it red. The dagger was almost entirely buried with the creature’s skull, and Hadrian believed it was nothing short of a miracle that its brain had not been stabbed.

He had no idea how they would be able to remove the weapon, for it looked like his doppelgänger had used the magic within it to melt some of the metal.

Unable to stomach looking at the sight – one he planned, one he executed – any longer, he turned his attention to the wooden box and grasped it with both hands. The chains fell away immediately, and he held it tightly to try and stop his hands from shaking.

There was a buzzing in his ears, and he looked up to see the crowd on their feet, deafening with their applause. Mechanically, he sought out the section of blue, unable to make out the individual faces of his friends, but just knowing they were up there, cheering, soothed him.

His mother was up there too. And Riddle. And…

His attention skipped passed the students and moved to the politicians’ pavilion. His gaze locked with crimson, and he nearly faltered under the sheer hunger in those eyes.

It unnerved him how fixated the man was on his dirtied, exhausted figure.

But what troubled him more was the slight smirk he could make out on the man’s lips. It was almost pleased.

Hadrian stared into those fathomless eyes, everything becoming hazy and unimportant under that weighty stare.

It was only due to his close attention that he spotted the flicker of – concernshockfear? in the man’s eyes.

Voldemort was not looking at him though. His gaze was pinned behind him.

Hadrian frowned, tilting to see what had caused the reaction.

Something slammed into his side, biting through his vest and sending him flying. He let out a shout, cut off abruptly when his body crashed against the rocks, his head snapping back.

And everything went dark.

OoO

Augustus had not even flinched when, almost three months ago, his Lord had approached him about using the manticore for the Triwizard Tournament. The beast had been doing nothing but collecting dust for close to thirty years anyway, so he had not hesitated when signing it over.

As far as he was concerned, everything in Britain belonged to his Lord anyway, to do with what he wished.

He had not flinched throughout all his years following the man. Not the torturing, not the spying, not the war. He had never stumbled, never been bothered by anything he had done in the name of his Master.

He was a very easy-going man, and nothing ever managed to get under his skin.

That being said – the sharp, piercing crack of Hadrian Evans’ head colliding with the rock wall of the arena had him gasping quietly.

The boy had done splendidly in his match. He had embodied the very notion of a Slytherin with his actions. Everything he did had an aim, no spell recklessly wasted. All of it was part of a plan.

His exploitation of the manticore’s slight weakness to physical attacks had been fantastic.

And the use of a doppelgänger. That was very advanced magic, especially for a seventh year. Using such a spell to draw the beast away from his target, allowing it to be sacrificed to further his goal of getting to his item.

The ruthless way it had stabbed into the manticore’s eye was nothing short of ingenious. The protective film over the beast’s eyes stopped all manner of attacks from blinding it – but much like a dragon, they were easily the most vulnerable part of its body.

The doppelgänger had been a bloody brilliant tactic, there was no doubt about that.

And Evans had completed his task in the fastest time, reaching his item and putting the beast down.

Only, something clearly went very wrong.

Shock had been the biggest emotion he had felt when he saw the beast stir, followed almost immediately by concern as its tail struck, catching Evans in the side and swatting him away like a fly.

It made no sense – the collar should have worked. They had designed it to be infallible, and the manticore had always succumbed to the serum before.

Without thought, he leapt into the arena, several others right behind him. Instead of joining his fellow Unspeakables as they set to trying to contain the beast, he sprinted to Evans’ crumpled form.

The boy was slouched unmoving against the arena wall.

Augustus had no attachment to the student, but he understood the political shit storm that would occur if the boy died after his task had finished. Everyone knew that the second the champions touched their item, they were done.

The manticore somehow getting passed the serum, tricking them into thinking it was defeated, and attacking Evans while his back was turned…there would be hell to pay, he was sure.

But there was no time for those thoughts right now. He had to check the damage, and – if necessary – stabilise the French wizard.

He crouched next to the boy, hand going for the back of his head and cradling it gently. With aching care his fingers ghosted over the back, magic probing at the damage.

His lips thinned at the amount of blood. He knew head wounds had a tendency to bleed, but the gash he could feel was definitely worrying. The fact that Evans had not so much as twitched since he had gotten to him was also doing nothing to abate his growing concern.

Augustus focussed on the child, and muttered a quick, “Rennervate.”

With a jerk and a gasp, Evans came to. His eyes popped wide, before they glazed with pain. Augustus made sure to keep a firm grasp on his head to stop him from moving too much and worsening the injury.

“Calm down, you were hit by the manticore’s tail and cracked your head. I needed you awake so I can assess the damage.”

Evans shook in his hold, breath wheezing. Two dazed, green eyes looked up at him unseeingly. The pupils were blown wide and a ribbon of bright red cut over the boy’s forehead and down his nose.

“Venom…” the boy whispered, voice almost inaudible in the surrounding insanity. “Tail…ven…” Evans’ eyes screwed shut.

Augustus grimaced when he remembered. Just what they needed on top of a head wound. Though at least the boy was coherent enough to speak, and about something relevant. Perhaps his magic had unconsciously protected him and lessened the damage?

It would not be the first time he had seen such a thing occur.

“We’ll deal with it later, for now -”

Evans weakly shoved him away with one hand while the other scrambled at his vest. With more skill than he would have thought given the boy’s current state, he pulled off his vest and began ripping at the bloodied shirt.

“Only…minute…have to…get it out.”

Augustus moved to grasp Evans’ arm and stop his harsh movements, but was stopped when the boy’s magic flared warningly, batting him away.

He leaned back in surprise, not having expected the boy to have been capable of utilising wandless magic. He watched silently as Evans held his trembling hand over his gaping side and a soft blue light formed in his hand.

Just what was he doing?

Evans exhaled three times in quick succession before violently flinging his hand out and away from his body. Augustus shouted when blood exploded from the boy’s wound, splashing over the ground next to them. He only had a moment to take in the inky-black colouring of the blood before the boy slumped forward, into his arms.

Evans whined low in his throat and clutched at Augustus, fingers curling into his cloak in an extremely childlike manner.

He just ripped the venom out of him. His head is cracked open, he’s barely conscious; yet he wandlessly and wordlessly just expelled his tainted blood.

Augustus looked down at the head of black hair in terrified wonder.

To think a mere child…

“Augustus.”

He glanced back over his shoulder to see his Lord standing there, blank faced but with spots of blood dusting his cheeks. His eyes roamed further back to the carcass of the manticore. The silver dagger that had been in its eye seemed to have grown within its fleshy confines, expanding until the beast’s head had burst.

“It’s bad.” Was all he said, already dismissing the supposedly undefeatable monster. If anyone was capable of doing so, it would be his Lord.

“Come, he needs medical attention.”

Augustus scooped the boy into his arms and followed after his Lord, mindful of the way Evans was mumbling to himself. It sounded like French, but every so often he swore it switched to Spanish, and even German.

His Lord lead them into the underground section of the arena, just short of a run. Augustus studied the older wizard carefully, unable to stop his curiosity from surfacing. His Lord looked…concerned? Understandable considering that if this boy died, there could be any number of unforeseen complications heading their way.

The fragile alliance between their countries could implode because of this. All their hard work, slowly weeding out any political threats to their regime, building up respect and credibility with the other world powers. It now all hung in the balance because of the boy in his arms.

But something told him there was more to it than that.

There was something personal in his Lord’s gaze, and it told Augustus that if his Lord had any say over the situation, Evans would not be dying today.

They emerged in a large room, filled to the brim with cabinets and lined with several beds. With one sweep of his eyes he spotted the two other champions, still being treated for their wounds.

Lucius’ spawn – bandages wrapped around his bare chest – sprung to his feet, eyes falling on the bloodied figure of Evans. Augustus could easily read the fear in the blond’s eyes and wanted to sneer.

Malfoy or not, this boy was far too soft to ever be one of them. He was incapable of hiding his emotions enough to ever survive in the carnivorous world of the Death Eaters. He would be picked apart the moment he was branded.

The girl also looked shaken at the sight of the third champion, going so far as to turn her head away. Though whether that was because the sight was too ghastly, or because she did not like Evans, he did not know.

Neither of them had been hurt this severely though, and despite his personal thoughts on them, he had to acknowledge that they were still children. Seeing someone their age, someone they knew and had interacted with, covered in blood and barely aware of their surroundings was likely to upset them.

His Lord gestured vaguely to one of the raised beds situated in the middle of the room, and Augustus carefully transferred his passenger onto the new surface. Evans’ fingers were still locked into his cloak, and he had to pry the hands off of him so he could step back.

The moment he was free, mediwitches were swarming the room, descending on the boy like vultures.

The first one that reached out to touch the boy jumped back with a yelp, cradling her blistered hand to her chest.

A look of mutual bewilderment came to their faces.

A second tried to touch the boy, only to be tossed back viciously.

Like a dam bursting, Augustus could feel the magic humming around the child, writhing like madness and lashing out at all who approached.

Beakers shattered, glass spraying everywhere as they ducked to avoid the shards.

“His magic is out of control!” One shouted.

It’s trying to protect him, he realised with awe. Even barely conscious, Evans magic was reacting to any perceived threat, unable to tell friend from foe.

It was much like a wild animal that was wounded, snarling and biting at whatever approached, regardless of intent. And in his current disjointed state, Evans was in no condition to reign in the violent power.

It made him wonder though, why he had not been attacking so fiercely when he had first approached the boy. Was it because they had already met once before, and on some level Evans knew who he was?

It was the only thing that made sense, seeing as he could not trust Augustus, not so quickly at least. That would be foolish, and if there was anything Evans’ match had shown him, it was that the boy was no fool.

“If we can’t stop him, there’s no way we can treat him! He’ll bleed out at this rate!”

Even in the midst of flying glass and the panicking mediwitches, his Lord stood tall and unaffected.

There was a dangerous glint in his ruby eyes as he watched the pandemonium play out in front of him, gaze fixated on Evans’ stationary figure.

The Dark Lord prowled forward, his own magic rising to combat Evans’, easily countering all the frantic attacks on his person. He stopped at one end of the bed, staring down at Evan’s face intently. There was a small smirk on his lips.

His Lord clamped his hands on either side of Evan’s head, leaning down until they were eye to eye.

“I will keep him subdued, be prepared to treat him the moment his magic stops.” His Lord tapped a finger on Evans’ cheek demandingly, causing the child to crack his eyes open. “If he dies, your own lives are forfeit.” He continued casually.

The Dark Lord smiled darkly down at the dazed boy. “Let’s take a peek at that brain of yours, Hadrian.” The man purred softly.

A hand shot up and clamped onto one of the Dark Lord’s wrists, nails digging into the bare skin with surprising force. Evans’ eyes cleared long enough to burn with anger, every ounce of it aimed at the man looming above him.

“Don’t you fucking -”

“Legilimens.”

Chapter Text

Voldemort had only ever encountered Hadrian’s mental shields whenever he attempted to skim the child’s mind, and those had always been quite strong, batting his efforts away easily.

Typically, with such a protected mind, he would have been met with more resistance when entering. The only reason he had managed to breeze passed the initial walls as effortlessly as he had, was because Hadrian was hardly at his peak right now, and his mental defences reflected that.

His body was already falling into shock, due to the blood loss, and the fact that there were likely still traces of venom circulating his system.

He had seen the boy remove most of it – and had that not been a delicious display of skill? – but he knew that without a wand, the level of precision for the spell would have diminished greatly.

With his magical loss, and the trauma from the task itself, coupled with the gaping wound on his head – Voldemort was unsurprised that the boy’s first line of defence had crumpled under his intrusion like wet paper.

He was, however, surprised with this.

He found himself in a void.

There was nothing but the unending darkness. All around him, pressing in on him, suffocating and consuming him. It seemed to thrum with warning, a silent threat that whispered you do not belong here.

Unprepared for such an attack, there was a brief moment – nothing more than a flicker – where panic washed through him.

Whatever he had anticipated lurked within the boy’s mind, it had not been this complete lack of everything.

From his interactions with Hadrian, he would have expected this space to be filled to the brim with ideas and emotions and memories. The boy was so quick-witted and sly, his eyes alive with every thought that came to him, constantly spinning.

This stillness, this silence…it was like nothing he had ever experienced in any mind before.

And that unbalanced him for a beat. But as quickly as he lost it, his calm returned to him when he noted that other than being supremely uncomfortable, this darkness was doing nothing but holding him tightly in place, restricting him from going forward or retreating.

He relaxed the tension that had sprung through him.

This was what the mindscape of a braindead person would resemble, the complete cessation of all thought – just without the crushing sensation of entrapment.

If he had not been able to feel Hadrian’s magic pushing against his own – futilely attempting to eject him – he would almost be tempted to label him dead.

Initially, he had been content to just stay on the fringes of Hadrian’s mind, to keep his magic focussed on his invading presence rather than the mediwitches trying to heal his broken body.

But now…his curiosity was piqued yet again by the child, and he acknowledged that this was a unique opportunity to unravel some of his little enigma’s secrets.

Ever since that first lesson his thoughts had repeatedly strayed back to the French seventh year. Sometimes fleetingly, thought more often than not, for long stretches of time. The more time he spent in the boy’s company, the more prominent his interest had grown.

And he was not foolish enough to allow this chance to slip through his fingers.

His eyes roamed over the shroud of darkness, senses reaching out to probe the strange defence, trying to see if he had any way to dispel it.

It was positively unnerving. There was just something undeniably foreign about its presence here.

It was clear that this was not a natural defence projected by Hadrian to protect his mind, because he could detect a different magical signature mingled in with the boy’s own. But it was also wrong, because it just…was not Hadrian enough.

If the boy did create this projection, Voldemort had no doubt it would be clawing at him, shredding him, viciously attacking at whatever fell into its grasp. Instead, it was almost placid, and that was not in the boy’s nature.

If he had to guess, he would say that it was planted here by someone else – someone who had an impressive amount of magic at their disposal, and an innate talent with the mind arts.

But more than that, they would have had to have had extensive access to Hadrian’s mind, because this was no small feat, constructing defences in another’s mind. It would have required months – even years, depending on the caster – of repeated visits to build the base, and then to grow it into what it was today.

There were very few people who he would bet Hadrian trusted enough to allow into his mind so often, and from such a young age. The boy was what, seventeen? They would have had to wait until his magical core was developed enough to accept such a presence in his mind, which would – most likely – place him around six to eight when this began.

The most obvious choice would be his mother. And that was entirely curious because he had been told by the boy himself that his mother barely held enough magic to make potions. A snippet of information he was intimately aware of mirroring his own pathetic mother.

And during his brief introduction to Hadrian’s mother, while he had noted her fiery personality and the dangerous intelligence in her green eyes, he had not sensed any significant amount of magic in her.

Of course, it was possible there was another figure in Hadrian’s life that he would trust to do this, someone he was not aware of.

An aunt or uncle perhaps? An older cousin?

He had been positive though that there was no extended family on his mother’s side, the woman being a descendant from a long line of squibs that lingered on the edges of magical society. Her parents had passed years ago, and there had been no other children. And his father was of muggle heritage, so there was no chance of the caster being from his side.

How fascinating. So it must be a close friend.

However, his mother did not strike him as a woman content to allow anyone to get too close to her child. The way she had so blatantly lied to their faces, just to scurry her son away from him was telling enough.

It was so odd a reaction, though what had caught his attention was not the anger in her gaze, or the way she had scanned him with suspicion. It had been the glint of possessiveness.

He had only approached the woman in the first place because he knew Hadrian would stop his amusing avoidance tactics if he perceived his mother to be in any form of discomfort or danger.

“I love her.”

He had only ended up with more questions though, ones he would get an answer to, now that he had been gifted with this remarkable opportunity.

But first he had to get out of this.

Very few things were infallible, and while Hadrian had consistently shown he was far from average, he was not skilled enough to keep him trapped here indefinitely.

Age did play a factor in cases such as this, after all, and for all his power, the boy was still a boy. In the face of someone such as him, who held years of experience and more power in comparison, Hadrian was at a severe disadvantage.

Slowly, Voldemort reached out and concentrated, feeling mentally for the edges of these shadows, his determination fighting against the child’s in a fierce battle for dominance.

It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but eventually Hadrian’s magic faltered.

Voldemort smirked, and pounced on the weakness with glee. He grasped at the trembling shadow and pulled.

There was a sharp ripping sound, and then, like a blanket being tugged away, the darkness receded and left him in brilliant light.

He took a moment to regain his sense of awareness, marvelling at the impressive trap, even with its unknown caster. Whoever had placed and grown the trap had been skilled, and resolute about keeping invaders from the boy’s mind.

Any ordinary legilimens would have floundered in the darkness, unable or unwilling to press onwards or retreat, simply stuck until they were ejected from Hadrian’s mind.

Fortunately, he had never been ordinary.

With a deep breath, he cast his gaze around the newest space he found himself in, almost childishly eager to catch his first true glimpse of Hadrian’s mindscape.

The stone walls on either side of him rose oppressively into the sparkling sky. In front of him, the corridor stretched for several metres, before taking a sharp right. A glance behind him showed much the same, only the bend occurred to the left.

He walked forwards and rounded the corner, cocking his head when he was met with a solid wall.

A terrifying grin slid over his face as he pivoted and made his way back in the other direction, this time, being allowed to continue by turning down yet another stone corridor.

A maze.

The first layer of the child’s mind was a maze.

A delighted laugh escaped him. Because this, this was what he had been expecting when he had come here.

A mind as challenging to navigate and difficult to decipher as the boy himself was.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

OoO

Mayhem.

It was the only word that could even begin to describe what was happening in the room.

Simone Lécuyer watched with tightly controlled anger as members of her council – some of the most respected and influential people in her country – spewed insults towards the British Minister and his associates with all the finesse of children.

She took a deep breath, biting back her own rage-filled comments, knowing that the last thing they needed right now was another raised voice adding to the already heightened tensions.

Something brushed against her elbow, and she tilted her head enough to make out Éric Korin gazing down at her stoically. His mask could not hide anything from her though, after years of knowing him, she could read every ripple across his face with accuracy.

He was just as angry as the rest of them, though perhaps for different reasons. If she recalled correctly, Éric’s son, Jacob, was quite close with Hadrian. The two boys were often seen together at social functions, joined at the hip even outside of their academy.

Éric would have known Hadrian for years, and she could see the worry lingering in the back of his brown eyes. She understood intimately how he felt.

She herself had only recently had the pleasure of meeting the boy wonder of Beauxbatons. She had heard of him, whenever the topic of student performance came up at various meetings. But until last year, he had been unknown to her.

Hadrian was, in a word, amusing.

A smart young man who knew how to use what he had to play the game.

He was attractive – not the most attractive she had ever seen, and it was only excessively noticeable when the boy put effort into his appearance, but it was there. Like a subtle trait that was impossible to ignore once it has been pointed out.

He could twist his words as easily as any politician, but he was not a polished act. He stumbled occasionally, and certainly made mistakes.

He was charming, and bold, and understood the subtleties of their lifestyle better than most of his peers, but he was reckless and that highlighted his youth.

He was good, and he knew it. Which made him arrogant.

Normally, such an attitude would make him unworthy of her notice. Just another ambitious, cocky child that did not know when to stop.

But underneath all of that there was something else, something she had caught a glimpse of during their first meeting that made him interesting. Potential.

As he was now, Hadrian Evans was simply a brilliant student with a knack for politics. But with the right pressure, the right guidance and advice, she could see him being someone truly spectacular in the future.

Simone might be ahead of herself, but in five or so years, she would not be against the idea of stepping down – but only if there was someone like Hadrian there to take the office from her.

With the current state of the world, they needed someone that could balance mercy with ruthlessness. Someone who was more than willing to put the needs of their country first and be prepared to make tough decisions.

Simone was perfectly capable of handling it at the moment, but she was more than aware of her creeping mortality. France needed a leader who was not hindered by such weakness.

Which was why, once he graduated, she was fully prepared to offer a job as her personal assistant to the boy. She would be able to provide him with practical experience dealing with actual political situations, and give him an open view into what the responsibilities of a minister were.

Simone was not a teacher, but she was not one to let such potential be squandered. She would use her last few years in office to groom him, help him hone his abilities and set him up for success. He was good, but she would make him great.

Hadrian was the type of person who could make a real difference, and she was determined to make sure it was a positive one.

That was, if he even survived the afternoon.

He had acted courageously in his task against the manticore, and truly displayed those talents his professors were constantly praising him for. Simone felt nothing but pride as France’s champion completed his task in the quickest time, without a single scratch on him.

And then it had all crumpled with one swipe of the creature’s tail.

Simone’s hands clenched when she recalled how the boy had collided with the wall, how he had slid to the ground listlessly, blood dripping down his face.

Her councilmen had every right to be furious. The moment Hadrian had touched his item, the manticore should have been neutralised. He was back under the protection of the Dark Lord.

If Hadrian died because the British Ministry was too incompetent to ensure his safety after his task, then no matter her own desires to keep the alliance between them open – her people would demand retribution.

They were entrusting Lord Voldemort with the life of one of their most prodigious students in decades, and now he was lying unconscious, life slipping away.

Unable to stand the chaos around her, she removed her wand and held it into the air. There was a loud crack, and the shouting voices cut off as they all flinched instinctively. Simone lowered her wand and moved her eyes over her people, well aware that they were all watching her, awaiting her next move.

“Now that that is over with,” her voice was as low as her opinion of them, and they dropped their eyes from hers. “Minister Malfoy, please explain to me, again, how the manticore managed to outwit your team of handlers.”

Simone stared down the blond man across from her, “Explain to me why my champion is quite possibly dying right now due to your negligence.”

Lucius Malfoy was a snake if she ever saw one. It was all in the placating spread of his hands, and the condescending curl of his smile. “Minister Lécuyer, I assure you, the incident is being investigated as we speak. What happened to Mr. Evans is a terrible tragedy; and we have our best healers working on him. Even Lord Voldemort is there, to oversee the boy’s condition.”

“‘A terrible tragedy’.” She echoed, unimpressed. “That does not even begin to cover what happened Minister. You, personally, told us at the beginning of this tournament, that between challenges the champions would be perfectly safe. Hadrian completed his task, and yet, he was critically wounded.”

Next to her Éric shifted.

“Minister, again, we do not know how the manticore was able to overcome the serum. Until such information has been handed to us, pointing fingers is a waste of time.”

“And how can we trust the information you give us?” Éric spoke harshly, and murmurs erupted through the gathered people. Simone shot him a quelling look, not in the mood for a male pissing contest.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the slight. “Are you suggesting we would falsify the report, Lord Korin?”

“I am merely suggesting that someone must be at fault, and I have found that some people would do anything to avoid being found guilty.” The two wizards glared at each other from over the table.

“That’s right!” Another cried. “‘ow do we know you did not sabotage our champion!”

And just like that, the voices were back, and much louder.

Simone resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. She could already feel the control of the meeting falling away. She ignored whatever retort Malfoy had, feeling weariness rise within her suddenly.

Resisting the urge to rub her temple, she finally reached her limit. With narrowed eyes, she once again cut through the shouts.

“As amusing as this has been gentlemen, I am afraid I have little patience to deal with this pointless conversation further. Until we know what exactly has occurred, there is little we can do. Minister Malfoy, I expect a full, detailed report within the next two days.”

She frowned lightly, “Now, I suggest we conclude this so I may attend to my champion.”

Without looking back, she left. At her departure, her councilmen scrambled to leave as well.

She did not care if she bruised any egos with her abrupt exit, or that it was hardly her most graceful moment. She had more important things to do then manage over bickering children.

“Well done,” she snapped quietly to Éric, knowing he was following after her. “let us accuse the British Ministry of not only illegally retracting information from an investigation, but also stir rumours that they planned an assassination attempt on our champion.”

Éric did not even have the decency to be ashamed. “You cannot believe that they did not know something like this would occur.”

“I believe in having all the facts before jumping to conclusions. Honestly, what were you thinking Éric?” She spun to face him, "Do you want an international incident on our hands?"

"We already have one." He said firmly, "And Britain will do whatever it needs to, to avoid being blamed for this."

Simone stared up at him silently, before she huffed lightly and looked away. "I have never minded your clearly antagonistic views on Britain's new regime. But you would do well to remember that we are standing in the heart of his kingdom. I need allies Éric, not people kicking up trouble.”

“No one man should have the amount of power he does. A single wizard cannot rule an entire country.”

“Tell that to Grindelwald,” Simone snapped, “he almost singlehandedly took over his country, and very nearly succeeded in conquering Europe as well. We should be thankful that Lord Voldemort has made no move to extend his reach.”

“Yet.” Éric stressed, “He may be content to remain within the Isles for now, but a man such as he will always crave more. It is only a matter of time before he turns his greed on us.”

All the more reason to have a leader unhindered by their own body – someone who stands a better chance of enduring his assault.

“Minister Lécuyer!”

They started at the call, heads turning to see the harried group of students approaching, led by Raina Séverin. Just paces behind her, Simone could make out the pale faces of Claire Daniau, Éric’s son Jacob, and several others.

“Raina,” Simone greeted the girl politely. She had a rather good relationship with Raina’s father, and could already see the girl intended to follow in his footsteps. It was a shame what had happened with her mother, though Raina had never known the woman, so she was largely unaffected by her mother’s beliefs. “are you alright?”

Raina stopped in front of her, taking a moment to glance at her friends, before facing them again. Her expression was pulled tight, and her cheeks lacked any colour. “Minister Lécuyer,” she began, “I – we were hoping you had some news…about Hadrian, and his…condition.”

Ah, of course. Simone sighed deeply, face softening at the signs of their obvious frantic concern for their friend’s state. “Unfortunately, I have not heard anything about Hadrian. All I know is he is being treated right now, and that Lord Voldemort is overseeing everything.”

Displeasure was evident in the slumps of their shoulders, and Simone felt her heart give a little at the sight. They were all so young.

She reached out and placed her hand carefully on Raina’s shoulder, gifting them with a gentle smile. “Hadrian is strong, and he is with the best healers in Britain right now. There is every chance that he may pull through yet. Have faith in him.”

“He was covered in blood.” Daniau murmured quietly, eyes unfocussed. “It hit him so hard.”

From the corner of her eye, Simone watched as Jacob drifted closer to his father, and the two conversed softly off to the side. Éric’s hands flickered as if to grab his child, but he refrained at the last second.

“He was gravely injured, yes. But we must not let our minds be plagued by doubts. Right now, all that matters is that he is receiving the care he needs.”

Her words comforted them little, but Simone honestly had nothing that could elevate their fears. The truth was, Hadrian had as much chance of surviving as he did of dying. They could do nothing for him but sit and wait.

“Are you going to go see him?” Raina asked, dark eyes staring up at her beseechingly.

“I was heading there now.” She could see the question forming before it even left the girl’s mouth. “You will not be allowed to come, Raina. I will likely not even be permitted into the room until he is stable. I am sorry.”

Her face lowered in disappointment. Simone stepped backwards, “Return to the carriage Raina, Madame Maxime will want you all there soon. Do not delay.”

Simone squeezed her shoulder once more in comfort, before sweeping passed. She had a champion to visit.

OoO

The ground gave way.

Voldemort landed hard, grunting as his legs bent to absorb the impact. He fought off a scowl.

This was the fourth time such a trap had occurred, with increasing frequency each occurrence. It was becoming tiresome.

He stood, scanning his new environment critically. The maze walls were as unchanging as always.

While this projection was incredibly well constructed and maintained, he was beginning to consider resorting to using a more forceful approach to get passed this. His patience had been slowly worn the longer he walked through the never-ending corridors.

His magic gathered, ready to push against the boy’s when an echo reached his ears.

“Stop being such children.”

He cocked his head to the side, moving in the direction of the whispery voice. It was faint and somewhat familiar. As he rounded the next corner, another voice spoke, still barely audible.

“You do not need to be so bitter, Raina.” Hadrian’s voice teased. “If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was ask.”

The rest of the conversation trickled away as suddenly as it had come, but hearing it made Voldemort grin. He was clearly getting closer to the boy’s memories if snippets of past conversations were leaking through.

Stretching out his magic, he probed along the corridor, searching for a way to break through.

His magic surged around one spot along the stone wall, and with a sharp shove, the maze fell away in front of him. There was a blinding light, and then his feet were landing in soft grass.

Voldemort hummed as he took in the beautiful, peaceful gardens. There were several marble water fountains dominating the green scenery, sculptured hedges and lush, flowering trees decorating the grounds.

He only needed one glance at the towering, mountain-carved castle and the blazing emblem to know where he was.

He had never personally been to Beauxbatons, but he had heard stories of its splendour, and seeing it in Hadrian’s mindscape did not surprise him.

Those who were taught occlumency were often encouraged to use a structure to better organise their thoughts. Many would choose something that was familiar to them, a building or location they associated with safety and comfort.

Most ended up constructing some version of their home – the Malfoy Manor construction in Lucius’ mind was superb – but there were others who picked otherwise.

His own was Hogwarts. As his first true home, he found more comfort in its hallowed halls than any other place he had been. It also had the added benefit of being an enormous building, giving him plenty of space to secret away his thoughts and memories.

It appeared Hadrian, too, understood that connection.

He moved towards the entrance of the academy, only pausing occasionally to witness small, insignificant memories play around him. Most were simply the boy and his friends eating together, or lounging in the sun as they spoke.

He scaled the marble steps, and slipped through the open doors without a problem. The moment he was inside, the doors shut behind him with a resolute click. He paused briefly, aware of how Hadrian magic was definitely more concentrated in here, and the overbearing presence of eyes pierced him.

He wondered if the boy was even conscious of his arrival at his core layer, or if it was only his magic reacting to a potential threat.

He waited to see if the power would attack, but it merely hovered, much like a librarian looming behind students to remind them to behave. A small smile kicked at the edges of his mouth at the apt comparison.

He set off through the grand halls, marvelling at the openness and how the light from the windows made the golden streams glisten and the crystals shine. It was truly a magnificent castle.

Voldemort moved through the halls leisurely, not knowing the outline of the academy but content that now that he was here, he had time to explore.

Curiosity guiding him, he paused in front of a random door. He had passed a number of them already, and could only assume behind them lay memories.

Voldemort reached out and opened the door.

Jacob threw himself onto the bed, bouncing from the force, and laughing loudly. Hadrian stood over him, eyebrows raised and mouth twisted fondly.

“Congratulations,” the dark haired boy snickered, “you have transcended from drunk to completely and utterly wasted.” Bottles of firewhiskey littered the floor around them, and Hadrian kicked one lightly with his foot.

Jacob wriggled in his place, looking up at his friend with a grin. “Thank you, thank you. I claim all the credit.” He buried himself deeper into the blankets, brown eyes sparkling playfully at the other.

Hadrian huffed in exasperation, collapsing on his own bed with a grunt. “Why I let you talk me into these things, I will never know.” He tossed an arm over his eyes and whined pitifully. “My brain isn’t working.”

“Good,” Jacob said, foot coming up and prodding insistently on Hadrian’s knee. “you are far too serious all the time. You need to get that pole out of your arse and live a little. Go find one of the girls and make out. That would definitely help your attitude.”

Hadrian swatted his foot away with a scowl, shifting without coordination until he was somewhat facing Jacob. “I do not have an attitude.” He protested.

“Yeah right,” he snorted. “you are such a stick in the mud. If you got laid, I bet you would be more fun.”

Hadrian groaned. “I’m not a virgin, Korin, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”

“And you refuse to tell me who you slept with, therefore, I refuse to believe it. Name, or it didn’t happen.”

Hadrian groaned again, louder and longer. “Fine.” He snapped, “Michael Laurent. Last year.”

Jacob sat up, eyes wide. “Michael Laurent? As in the Quidditch captain of your rival team? The guy you spent nearly five years complaining about being a massive, egotistical dick? How did that happen?”

Hadrian shrugged. “After the last game of the year, he congratulated me on a good match, and asked me what I was planning to do after I graduated. We got talking, next thing we were having sex in the locker room.”

“No way.” Jacob breathed, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have made a big deal about me finally losing my virginity and I didn’t want that getting out to the whole school by breakfast.”

“No not that,” Jacob brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. “I meant you – you know, being gay.”

“Bisexual, actually.” Hadrian corrected breezily, as if he was not causing his friend’s brain to explode.

“How did I miss that?” Jacob asked, throwing his arms out and falling back onto his bed. “I am as blind as a bat.” He complained.

“There there,” Hadrian said sarcastically, “you never asked and I never advertised. Why?” Something tentative crept into the dark haired boy’s voice. “Is it a problem?”

“No!” Jacob shouted, still sounding annoyed. “I’m just pissed that I have been pathetically pining from a distance because I thought you were as straight as an arrow, and now I find out I could have had sex with you ages ago!”

“Wow, way to make me sound easy.”

“Shut up you prick, that isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

“Still offended.”

Jacob crossed his arms and glared at Hadrian, as if all of this was his fault anyway. “I am very mad at you for being so sneaky with this.”

“I wasn’t ‘being sneaky’,” Hadrian scoffed, “I just don’t see the point of making a big deal out of it. I like boys. I like girls. It’s not a world-ending event.”

“But I could have been seducing you this entire time.” Jacob moaned sadly, “Do you know how long I’ve thought about having sex with you? Months, Hadrian. Months. You are a terrible friend.”

Hadrian chuckled lightly, “I’m so terribly sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, “how ‘bout a kiss?” Jacob teased.

There was a brief lull in their conversation, and Hadrian pushed himself into a sitting position, staring at Jacob blankly. His friend flushed, opening his mouth to mutter an apology.

“Sure.” Hadrian slid off his bed and crossed the distance easily. Jacob let out a noise of surprise, before Hadrian was gripping him by the back of his neck and reeling him in.

It was quick, but gentle, and Jacob shivered when they separated. Hadrian looked down at him, eyes crinkling a little as he smiled down at the stupefied expression on Jacob’s face.

“Anything else, your highness?” His fingers curled into his hair and his eyes ran over him thoroughly. There was no mistaking the glint in Hadrian’s eyes.

Jacob bit his lip, “Can we -?” He stopped himself.

Hadrian cocked an eyebrow, still grinning to himself. “Why Korin, I like how you think.” Even as he spoke, his hands trailed down Jacob’s chest and gave him a little shove.

“Down you go,” he said, “good boy.” Hadrian crawled on top of him, undoing his shirt as he went. “I don’t make a habit of sleeping with my friends Jacob.” He said softly, “Just this once, okay?”

The door snapped shut in his face as the memory faded.

Voldemort blinked to clear the sense of vertigo that rushed through him, processing what he had just witnessed.

He had suspected, but it was nice to have his suspicions confirmed.

With growing intrigue, he continued on his way through the hallways, tempted to view more memories but knowing that unless he wanted to draw more attention to himself, and risk Hadrian fighting him more than he already was, he had to wait until he got to more important memories.

He went up the first staircase he found, skipping the next two floors. He assumed the boy’s more prominent secrets would be better guarded in the upper sections, and so that was where he was headed.

The more levels he passed, the more locked doors he came across. Some simply refused to budge, other had padlocks securely over the handles. It was fascinating, and made his desire to know even stronger.

He wanted to stripe everything down and peruse it. He wanted to lay it all out and learn what made this child tick, learn every dream and thought and aspiration. It was, he acknowledged, quite a reckless thing. Something that was very close to becoming an obsession if he did not tread carefully.

Hadrian Evans was an interesting specimen, and he knew that he wanted him as a potential recruit, but was he really worth all the effort?

The very air seemed to become heavier the higher he climbed, and magic trailed along his limbs warningly, like nails scrapping against him.

He came to the final level, stepping onto the single hallway, lined with locked doors.

This was the place.

Each step he took had Hadrian’s magic scratching at him, though the boy was still too weak to hinder him. If Hadrian was not as injured as he was, Voldemort doubted he would have ever made it passed the maze.

He eventually stopped in front of yet another locked door, though unlike all the others, this one had heavy chains crisscrossing it. The boy’s magic was particularly strong in this area, and Voldemort knew he had found what he was looking for.

He stepped closer to the ridiculously protected door and let one hand hover just above it. He hummed softly, magic rising and preparing to start opening the locks. Only to stop.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head to the left, gazing at the next door.

It had not been apparent at first, but the next door…the magic was positively swirling around it.

He smirked at the clever ruse. He was being baited with the chained door.

Voldemort dropped his hand and moved in front of the next door, eyes scanning it critically. An idea bubbled to the surface, and without hesitation, his magic slammed into the second door.

Instantly, he felt like he was being crushed. Hadrian’s magic wrapped around him like a python, squeezing and crackling with power. It was worse than the void.

The void merely kept him stationary, a delaying tactic until Hadrian could eject the intruder.

This was seeking to destroy. To crush. To devour.

Voldemort’s magic attacked, ripping at the boy’s own in an attempt to break free.

It was violent, and painful, and for a horrible few seconds Voldemort did not know if he would be able to win.

But just like before, Hadrian magic wavered under the constant strain, and with a vicious stab, Voldemort shredded the protections around the door.

Memories rushed at him. Voices and images overlapping.

Hadrian burst through the front door, hair windswept and broom perched on his shoulder. His grin faded under his mother’s harsh glare. “What were you thinking?” She snapped, red hair flying as she approached him.

“Maman, I -”

“I told you not to enter that Quidditch tournament. What if someone recognised you!”

Hadrian ducked his head, “It was just for fun.”

“‘Fun’ is not worth risking everything. You could have jeopardised all of it!”

“…I’m sorry.”

Another rose as the memory faded.

“I’m at the top of my class.” A younger Hadrian said shyly, and his mother smiled down at him, leaning to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I never doubted you for a moment. I’m so proud of you darling. Your father would be as well.”

And another.

“Voldemort.” She spat.

Hadrian nodded once again, calm in the face of his mother’s rage. “My thoughts as well. Though Malfoy was apparently the one to propose the idea.”

“It doesn’t matter who proposed the idea Harry, we know Malfoy is just a figurehead. This has Voldemort written all over it, what concerns me is why?”

Hadrian leant back on his hands and watched as his mother’s mind began working.

“I doubt he knows about us maman,” he spoke softly “because if he did he wouldn’t go to such lengths to confirm his suspicions. He has no idea where we went after the attack, and even if he somehow caught news of me he wouldn’t automatically jump to the right conclusion.”

He hopped off the counter and put his hands on her shoulders, waiting until she met his eyes and the anger in them had cooled. “Think maman, if he knew about us we would have already been attacked, or there would be surveillance, or any number of horrible things would have happened.”

And another.

She weaved her hands through his hair, humming quietly.

“Hey, mummy?” She looked down at him, eyes gentle and warm.

“Yes Harry?”

“How come I don’t have a dad?”

Her hands stuttered, and tears came to her eyes as she stared down at him. “Oh sweetheart…” she pulled away from him uncertainly. “You do – did have a father. You had the most amazing father in the world, one that loved you so much and who was so excited when you were born.”

He blinked up at her, not understanding. “But where is he now?”

“He…he died, when you were just a baby.”

“How did he die?”

She bit her lip, a debate warring over her features. “He was killed by a very bad man.” She whispered after a long moment. “Someone horrible came to our home, he wanted to hurt us. You father stayed behind to give us a chance to escape.”

Her fingers brushed strands of messy black hair from his face. “He loved us both so much Harry. He wanted to protect us from the bad man. Your father was the best man in the whole world, and I never want you to doubt that.”

He buried his face in her lap, peeking up at her with concern. His little hand rose to touch her wet cheek. Her own hand covered his and she pressed a kiss to his skin. “What was his name?”

She swallowed harshly, “James,” she murmured, “James Potter.”

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her as far as he could. She clung to him tightly, trembling ever so slightly. “Don’t cry mummy,” the boy said.

“I don’t want to lose you too.” She admitted, almost inaudibly into his tiny shoulder.

A beautiful smile pulled across the child’s face, and he pulled back so she could see it. “You won’t mummy. We’ll always be together. I promise.”

“Oh, my precious darling boy.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, eyes clenched shut.

A force wrapped around him, and all at once he was wrenched away from his place. The door snapped shut in his face, before he was slammed into the marble floor and sent skidding away.

“Those,” someone snarled, “are private.”

Voldemort pushed himself up, eyes immediately locking onto the vibrating form of Hadrian, standing defensively in front of the door he had just brutally opened.

Something much like shock rippled over the boy’s face, and he stepped back unconsciously. “Wait…Riddle? But I thought…”

Voldemort paid no attention to the realisation that struck the boy. His mind was already occupied with his own revelations.

Hadrian Evans.

Harry Potter.

Chapter Text

Tom Riddle.

Voldemort.

Hadrian’s first reaction was denial – complete and utter denial – as he stared at the man in front of him. He blinked, waiting for the image to dispel, because…this could not be real. There was no way this was happening. He had to be hallucinating.

Because nothing else made sense.

This had to be some sort of trick.

And yet, a part of him that he had developed and sculpted over the years – the part that always just reacted, not letting things like logic and facts hinder his movements – had already accepted this, and responded accordingly to the revelation.

Shackles erupted from the floor and ceiling and walls, heavy golden chains twisting their way around the man’s body and pulling taunt until they were on the verge of slicing through him.

Threat temporarily neutralised, Hadrian finally allowed himself to stumble back.

Ridd – Voldemort was in his head. He had viewed his memories. He had seen his mother’s face. He knew.

There was no way the man had not made the connection already. An idiot could have done it with all the information he had just uncovered, and Rid – Voldemort was no idiot.

The thought had fear ramming into him with the force of a sledgehammer.

Sweet merciful Morgana – he knows.

What was he supposed to do?

Could he even do anything?

They had plans in place for situations such as this, contingencies to eliminate any threat that could expose their secret; and he had always known that the day would come when Voldemort would discover who he really was. He just – never in a million years could he have prepared himself for this.

He was not supposed to find out so soon. He was not supposed to have entered his mind at all. None of their goals had been achieved yet, they still had years of work to do. This had all hinged on Hadrian’s ability to keep their secrets safe, and now Voldemort had all but plucked the information right from him.

If only he was stronger. If only he had better protected his mind. If only he had not let himself be so grievously injured.

Everything was ruined.

There was no way he would survive the night. Voldemort would kill him the second he got free of his mind, and then he would go after his mother –

No.

Hadrian clamped his eyes shut. No, I refuse. This bastard won’t touch her. I won’t let him.

A delicate calmness settled over him, icy and dangerous, blanketing the panic.

Hadrian dropped his hand and turned his gaze on Voldemort.

Riddle stared back at him blankly.

He looked – different, somehow. His features more youthful, around his late thirties if he had to guess, which was much younger than normal and a far cry from what the Dark Lord was supposed to look like.

For a brief, pathetic moment, Hadrian entertained the thought that maybe he was wrong, that they were not the same person.

But the thick, potent magic slithering through his mind was undeniably that of Voldemort. He remembered the feel of it, imprinted on him ever since he had foolishly established that tentative connection so many weeks ago on his arrival at Hogwarts.

There was no use deluding himself.

He just did not understand how.

How had he not seen this? How had he been so fucking blind? He had always prized himself on his observational skills, and yet, somehow, he had missed this very important detail.

Oh Gods, how much had he said to Riddle over the weeks? How often had he joked with him, enjoyed his company, admired his talent and wit?

And every single time – every single time – it had been Voldemort lurking behind the amused smiles and words of praise.

He felt sick. He felt like a fool.

The only consolation was that he had managed to hide his identity from the other all this time as well.

He shoved the thought away. He had more important things to deal with right now.

Riddle, Voldemort – whoever he was, Hadrian could not let him leave his mind with the information he now possessed. Which meant he either had to try and venture into the man’s mind and erase the discovery, or he would have to kill him.

Hadrian stared hard at the stationary figure – and was that not terrifying, that he had not so much as twitched this entire time? – contemplating his chances of actually crushing him before he could escape. He could do some serious damage to Voldemort’s mind here, if he exerted himself.

But would it be enough?

His projection of himself was already unstable, and his vision wavered horribly every few seconds. His magic would not last much longer, and trying to restrain that Dark Lord when he was at full power would be borderline impossible. As he was now, it was a pipe dream.

He had to do something before he feel unconscious, had to at least try.

With his train of thought, the chains around Voldemort tightened minutely, jingling merrily in the silence between them.

Hadrian watched as the heavy links dug into his enemy, knowing that if this was the real world, bones would be creaking, and muscles bruised.

“Do you honestly think you can?” His eyes snapped to the man’s, caught in the familiar blue the moment they connected.

“What?” he breathed.

“Do you honestly think you are in any way capable of hurting me?”

He just barely refrained from bristling at the condescending remark, this time wilfully tightening the chains.

However, instead of showing pain as he wanted, Voldemort smirked at him, looking utterly at ease despite his precarious position.

Hadrian hated him for it.

He should not be so calm, so in control. Finding the memories must have shocked him on some level. Learning his true name should have garnered more than the initial widening of his eyes. He was – Voldemort had been searching for them for years.

His mother and he were fugitives. In the first several years after their disappearance, there had been literal manhunts for them, searches that only died down around Harry’s sixth birthday.

He had expected anger when the truth was revealed. He had expected an attack. He had certainly expected more than this unruffled, tranquil figure in front of him.

“Honestly, Harry, we both know how weak you are right now.”

“Don’t call me that.” He spat without thinking. It was just…wrong. Hearing that name from this man. Only his mother called him that. The way Voldemort said his birth name tarnished it somehow, violated something he held close.

“If you were in the condition to hurt me, you would have had no trouble keeping me out of your mind. Look at you,” he sneered, “you’re in shambles, Harry.”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked, mocking and menacing. “It is your name, isn’t it? Harry James Potter. Son of Lily and James. Heir to the House of Potter.” The smirk on the man’s lips twisted a little more. “The Prophecy Child.”

Hadrian narrowed his eyes at the last title, having never heard himself referred to in that way before. He frowned, unsettled and unsure of how to proceed.

Voldemort stared at him, the intensity of his attention like a physical force. “I’m almost tempted…” the man murmured softly, the words having Hadrian freezing. “I do rather like the idea of wrapping my hands around your throat after this.”

The threat should not have surprised him, but it did. The idea of being absolutely defenceless in front of this man made him nervous. Because what would stop Voldemort from doing exactly that once he got free?

Hadrian would be unconscious, and all Voldemort had to do was wait until he was alone, lying unprotected. His life would be snuffed out, while he was trapped inside his own head, unaware of the danger.

He swayed backwards a hair, but the miniscule movement revealed everything. Voldemort’s eyes glowed in satisfaction, and Hadrian grit his teeth as another wave of pain hit him.

His projection flickered maddeningly, and shadows began to creep along the hallway they were in as his consciousness slipped further and further.

He held on valiantly, but the chains eventually evaporated, and Voldemort’s presence ripped itself from his mind with all the strength of a hurricane.

Hadrian screamed, dropping to his knees, before he was submerged back into the darkness.

OoO

Draco watched silently as the mediwitches fluttered about the examination table, wands weaving and voices mingling as they rushed to stabilise Evans.

It had been peaceful, if a little tense, only minutes before.

He and Kaiser had been receiving their treatment for their own wounds. The burns along his back were thankfully numbed at this point, but he knew that in a matter of hours, he would be able to feel them.

The dragon had not been as difficult to deal with as he had feared, and other than that one hit, he had emerged otherwise fine.

Kaiser had been splattered with blood when she was ushered here, and teeth marks littered her body. But like Draco, she was relatively uninjured.

The two of them had sat in silence, listening to the eerie silence above them, eye flickering upwards whenever the crowds roared their approval. Draco remembered how both of them had flinched terribly when that piercing, inhuman shriek had echoed down to them.

Draco could admit that he actually held a good deal of fear towards Evans now – because anyone who was capable of making a manticore scream in pain was not someone he wanted as an enemy.

When he heard the rather familiar cheer of the crowd, signalling that Evans had won, he had let some of the tension drip from his body. He had watched the door, ready to greet the other and congratulate him.

But then there was more screaming, sounding more terrified than ever, and Draco had known something had happened.

He thought he was prepared for the worst when he first entered his name in the tournament, he had read the past accounts, he knew the stories. But he was still shaken, terribly so, when the Dark Lord and Augustus had emerged from the hallway, the bloodied form of his fellow champion cradled gently in the Unspeakable’s grasp.

Never before had Draco seen so much blood.

Evans’ side was shredded.

When the shirt had been removed, and his injury bared for all to see, even the mediwitches had hissed quietly under their breath. It was only the sharp order from the Dark Lord that had had them snapping to action, once it was safe to do so.

Draco’s stomach rolled at just the thought of Evans’ wound.

The gash was a vivid red, and Draco swore he could see his ribs in between the gaps of the rotating healers.

The stark white seemed completely out of place, and that might have been the most disturbing thing – if he could not also see the muscles still moving in time with Evans’ sharp breaths. The way the pink flesh strained and bunched had bile rising swiftly to his throat.

But it was also the blood that continued to leak out of his body, stopped only when one of the healers tried to staunch the flow. He had not known that one person could hold so much blood in them, and grew worried the more he saw because that was supposed to be inside the body, not outside.

Draco had grown up knowing he would one day be a Death Eater, it was just another expectation in the long list that ruled his life. He had been surrounded with stories of his father’s less-classified missions, and any number of the visitors they entertained had never shied from revealing their own deeds to him.

His aunt, in particular, seemed to enjoy recounting her more gruesome actions whenever he had the pleasure of her company.

Draco loved Bellatrix – truly, he did – but the way her dark eyes positively glowed when she spoke of peeling away layers of skin, or explained the intricacies of how to cut out someone’s eye without killing them, disgusted him.

He was perfectly aware that he would likely never be able to stomach that side of the ‘job’. He would prefer to just be in the background honestly, in that aspect of his life.

Ambition was a Slytherin’s trait, most certainly, but it was tempered by self-preservation, and Draco very much wished to keep living. In their world, staying under the radar typically meant a longer life.

Seeing Evans like this – when only an hour ago they were standing beside one another, joking and laughing – was twisting something inside of him.

His aunt had caused similar wounds on others, his father had as well, and any number of other people he had known his entire life. They enjoyed inflicting pain, they enjoyed the rush of power they got from having someone else at their mercy.

Draco had no idea how anyone could enjoy inflicting something like this on another.

Evans’ skin – the bits not covered in bright crimson at least – was startling pale.

Across his chest, black veins crept.

The venom, he knew, but it was not as dark as he would have expected. Clearly someone had attempted to remove it before they brought him here.

Desperate to see something other than the gruesome sight, Draco drew his eyes back to Evans’ face, and consequently, the Dark Lord’s, which hovered just above.

Neither had blinked in the long minutes since the Dark Lord had entered the boy’s mind, and the stillness between them was unnatural.

Draco was well aware of legilimency, and knew that the Dark Lord was a master of the art. He had never been subjected to it – to his knowledge – and was grateful for that.

Curiosity prickled at him though. He wondered what was happening inside Evans’ mind.

The layers differed from person to person, and from his personality, Draco figured that Evans’ mind would be a very interesting place to visit.

What concerned him more though, was how Evans would take this invasion into his privacy. No one would dare reveal what the Dark Lord had done, but Evans’ vicious protest still rang in his ears.

He wondered just what had motivated the Dark Lord to do this. There were plenty of ways to subdue a person’s magic that did not involve entering their mind.

He felt uneasy all of a sudden.

Was it because of his…fascination with Evans? Draco was almost certain that his defence professor was truly the Dark Lord, though he would be more content to just ignore all the signs he had accumulated over the years. He knew Hermione had picked up on some things as well, but thankfully his foster-sister had enough sense to not poke at that topic.

Evans and Professor Riddle had an odd relationship, which meant that the Dark Lord was at least intrigued by Evans enough to get close to him in his other persona.

Draco let his eyes drift between the two, knowing this was a rare opportunity to study them when their attention was wholly occupied with something else.

So still they were, that when the Dark Lord leaned back sharply, everyone flinched.

There was burning rage in those red eyes, and every ounce of it was aimed at the unconscious boy in front of him.

The man ignored the mediwitches when they hesitantly began their work again.

He ignored Augustus as the Unspeakable sidled closer and whispered something in his ear.

He ignored everything happening around them.

His gaze was fixed on the thin pale hand latched around his wrist.

Draco held his breath as he watched the Dark Lord’s eyes slowly follow the limb up to Evans’ lax face, pain and exhaustion etched into the boy’s youthful features.

The Dark Lord’s fingers twitched outwards, then curled.

He pried the hand off of him, and without a backwards glance, he left the room.

OoO

Claire sat silently by his bedside, one hand softly resting on Hadrian’s limp one. Her eyes studied him passively, her shoulders drooping under the weight of her emotions.

She had never seen him in such a state, so motionless before. His skin was deathly pale, and if it were not for the slight movement of his chest, she would have thought him dead.

Her throat convulsed and she closed her eyes tightly, desperately trying not to recall just how lucky he was.

It had been over a week since he had been whisked off of the arena floor and treated, and he had not stirred once during that time.

The healers said it was a combination of his magical exhaustion and the physical trauma from the wound on his side, still heavily bandaged even with the extensive amount of treatment.

Claire thought it was more than that.

Hadrian might have been injured, but he was also one of the most stubborn individuals she had ever met. He was not the type to crumble like this. He should be awake by now, moaning about his boredom, demanding homework from his classes, and arguing with the Hogwarts’ healer on every little topic he could get away with.

She remembered fondly how the exact same thing had happened in their fifth year, when Hadrian had taken a bludger to the shin and was forced to remain in the hospital wing for three whole days before he was released.

He should be awake by now, even if only for a few seconds. It was not right that he had not even stirred, or that there was still an underlining sense of pain to his face. Why would he be in pain unless there was something else troubling him?

She tightened her grip on him, frowning at nothing.

She wanted nothing more than for his eyes to flutter open right now; to just hear his voice would be a blessing.

It was as if all the excitement and joy wilted the longer Hadrian remained in this state. None of them were eager to celebrate his win, when their champion was bedridden and unconscious.

Claire returned her gaze to his face hopefully, expression closing off when he did not stir.

“Please wake up soon.” She murmured, brushing some of his unruly hair from his forehead.

She combed the wild black strands back, fighting a smile at the sight. She had never really noticed just how uncooperative Hadrian’s hair truly was, he was forever styling it and keeping it in line with products.

She kind of liked how it was now – a mess of locks spread in every direction, utterly untameable.

He should wear it like this more often, she mused, huffing a laugh. It made him look younger, and it somehow suited his boyish charm more than the neatly tussled look he went with typically.

I will have to tell him that when he wakes up.

“Any change?”

Claire swung around to see Amelia Evans standing just behind her, watching her curiously.

The woman was every bit as lovely as her son, even exhausted as she was. Claire was momentarily jealous at how effortlessly the two seemed to carry their looks, before she realised that maybe they were not that similar after all.

Unlike his mother, Hadrian became a train-wreck the longer he went without proper sleep. She had seen it time and again whenever Hadrian dove into his studies with vigour, heedless of the signals his body gave him.

The thought of a tired Hadrian almost made her smile, before her mind was brought back to the question, and the decidedly not funny situation.

“No Madame.” She answered softly, hand still loosely wrapped around Hadrian’s.

Amelia’s eyes – Hadrian’s eyes – drifted to their joined hands, and a small, sad smile pulled at the corners of the woman’s mouth. “You are Claire, yes?”

Claire nodded, “Yes, we never have had the pleasure of meeting.”

Amelia swept closer, arms slack at her sides, face open. “I’ve heard plenty from Hadrian, he is quite fond of you, as I’m sure you know.”

She did, but it still felt nice to hear someone else confirm it. Claire straightened her back, her manners surging. “Would you like to sit -”

Amelia stopped her before she could finish. “That won’t be necessary, though thank you for the offer.” The woman instead perched herself on the edge of the hospital bed, eyes scanning over her son critically.

Claire watched silently as Amelia slowly reached out and traced her son’s cheek. Her eyes were dry, but Claire could see they were red-rimmed. She did not say anything to Hadrian, merely sat there watching him with a patient expression.

“He will be alright.” Claire piped up, disliking the silence between them. It merely reminded her of Hadrian’s state. Amelia dragged her eyes away from Hadrian to smile at her again.

“Oh, I know,” she agreed, some of the tightness leaking from her features. “I never had any doubt that he would pull through. He is young, and exceptionally healthy and strong. Hadrian has never truly let me down before, and I don’t think he will start now.” Amelia’s eyes crinkled in amusement, and Claire mechanically smiled back.

That last line had just been…a touch wrong.

But who was she to judge this woman? They had only met officially a few moments ago, and that was hardly enough time to get a firm grasp over her personality.

“He did well in the challenge,” she tried next, “using a doppelgänger was so unexpected. I did not even know he knew that branch of magic. He had never seemed interested in anything remotely Dark before.”

And now that she had said it, she realised how true it was. While doppelgängers were only considered ‘Dark’ if they involved a sacrifice, even the simplest versions still lingered in the murky area of Grey magic.

She had never even seen Hadrian touch a book about anything other than Light magic, unless it was for an assignment. And even then, he never really tried to expand passed what he needed to know.

To see him use a doppelgänger was both shocking and a tad concerning. Because if she had missed him somehow researching such a branch of magic – which most definitely was not on their curriculum – then it begged the question of what else he knew.

Claire shook her head lightly, frowning.

It was none of her business what Hadrian researched in his own time, she reasoned. As long as he played it safe she was happy to let him learn whatever caught his fancy.

Amelia hummed in response, eyes once again on Hadrian. “Yes, he did do rather well.” Pride licked at the edges of her tone. “And he has always been rather well-rounded with his studies. He likes to read a lot, and I try not to discourage his interests too much. As long as it is not too dangerous, I do not see the issue with him at least understanding the theory behind something.”

Claire nodded, a little pleased that his mother shared her own opinion.

Amelia glanced at her from the corner of her eye, “I think that the more you know, the better prepared you can be for future events.”

Hadrian had said something similar to her once, she believed. At least now she knew where it had come from. In fact, the longer she spent with Hadrian’s mother, the more she could see just how close they must be.

It was clear Hadrian adored the woman; it was in the way they spoke, with similar inflections on words, and that they shared the same philosophies.

Claire did not know if it was disconcerting, or cute, how much Hadrian emulated his mother.

“Don’t you have classes, Claire?”

Amelia’s soft inquiry broke through her thoughts, and Claire blinked at the woman in momentary confusion. “Oh, well, I am on my lunch break right now. Raina and I like being here with him whenever we can spare the time, just in case he wakes up.”

Hadrian’s mother tilted her head at her. “And what of your other friends? I have not seen Jacob around here.”

Claire shifted uncomfortably. Should she…?

“I am afraid Jacob and Hadrian had a…falling out.” The girl ducked her head down, missing the sudden sharpness in those green eyes. “Just a little after Hadrian was named champion. They do not speak anymore.”

“I see,” Amelia said after a beat. “and do you know the cause of this fight?”

“No,” some frustration crept into her voice. It hurt her, having two of the people she regarded the most no longer on speaking terms. Hadrian, her closest friend, and Jacob, whom she had liked for almost a year at this point. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Was it my fault? She thought suddenly, breath leaving her. Hadrian and I spoke about his relationship with Jacob, and right after they completely broke off their friendship.

She bit her lip and felt guilt plague her. Did I cause this?

“Well, I thank you for your consideration with Hadrian, but I doubt he would enjoy hearing that you spent all your free time hovering over him in worry, when you could be out eating with your friends.” Amelia shooed her good-naturedly. “Run along dear, I’ll sit with him. You get out of this drab place and get yourself a proper lunch.”

Claire hesitated, not wanting to just leave.

Amelia reached out and brushed her shoulder. “Please. Allow a concerned mother some time with her son?”

Well, there was no way she could say no without appearing completely heartless. Claire dipped her head in a nod and levelled the woman with a tiny smile. “I will be back later on then, thank you.”

Then, because Hadrian was her friend and she missed him, she leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

You had better wake up soon, you idiot.

OoO

Opening his eyes took a herculean effort, and he only managed to see the barest sliver of light before they fell closed again.

His eyes watered, and he groaned pathetically when his limbs refused to obey his command to move.

What happened?

He tried to remember, but it was all a horrible blank, and his head was throbbing like someone was beating a drum inside his skull.

His nose picked up on a familiar scent, but for the life of him he could not place it.

Where am I?

His fingers twitched, and his legs shifted, and he felt like smiling in relief. Only for that emotion to be obliterated by pain as it burned through him with a vengeance.

“Oh fuck me.” He hissed, tensing to brace for the next wave that hit him. Moving anything felt like a very bad idea, as his nerves cheerfully reported that everything was on fire.

He whined low in his throat and his body collapsed into the mattress even though he had barely moved in the first place.

He panted harshly, face screwed up as he waited it out.

“I would rather not, to be perfectly honest.” Someone commented airily from beside him, the words followed by the obnoxious crinkling of paper. The familiar voice took a moment to register, and when it did Hadrian wanted nothing more than to raise his hand and give his guest the finger.

“Why are you here?” he croaked, jaw clenched. He finally pried his eyes open enough to make out the blurry figure of Albert lounging in the seat beside him.

The dark skinned boy tittered at him, eyes not moving from the newspaper he was reading. “I’m on guard duty this afternoon – watching over our fallen champion, praying feverishly for his next awakening.”

“What…?”

Albert finally looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “You woke up for the first time yesterday, were lucid for approximately twelve seconds, before you fell back asleep. Since then there has always been someone lurking next to you for every minute. Lucky for you, this time you got to wake up to my gorgeous face, rather than the crotchety old healer.”

He did not remember that, but right now, he hardly cared.

“I’m blessed,” he snarled, eyes falling shut again, but refrained from falling back into the comforting darkness. “think you can make yourself useful and get me something to deal with the overwhelming pain I’m in – or is your only function sitting there looking pretty?”

“If you are well enough to snark, maybe I won’t give you this then.” Albert leaned over him, a corked potion in his hand. “This was on your bedside table, the healer said to make sure you drank it when you were coherent enough to understand what I’m saying. This is a numbing potion, it will dull the pain in your body, but you are not allowed to move too much, are not allowed to leave your bed, and are not allowed to use magic. Do you understand?”

Though Albert’s tone was joking, his words were serious. Hadrian nodded slowly. “Just gimme it already. My body feels like one big bruise.”

“That’s because you are one big bruise.” Albert commented, “Now say ‘please’.”

“Albert I swear to the fucking Gods if you don’t give me that potion -”

The bottle was pressed to his lips, and Albert tilted his head enough so he could swallow. The other boy snickered quietly, and if he were not as run-down as he was now, he would have glared.

His annoyance evaporated the moment the potion hit him, and he sighed in relief, sinking back into his pillow.

“Thanks.” He said, as sincerely as he could manage through the haze.

“No problem, boy-who-lived.”

Hadrian cracked his eye open and stared at Albert incredulously. “What?

Albert smirked, fingering the newspaper in his hands slyly. “Oh, it’s nothing.” He rocked back in his seat, somehow making the horribly stiff chair look comfortable. “Just introducing you to your new title, is all.”

With flourish, Albert flipped the newspaper to face him, showing off the bold headline.

Hadrian Evans: The Boy-Who-Lived!

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” He snapped, trying to reach for it, but Albert pulled it out of his range, expression gleeful. “Give it here, you arse.”

“No. You are not allowed to strain yourself, and reading all the lovely things Ms. Skeeter wrote about you will raise your blood pressure.”

“You raise my blood pressure. What does it say, exactly?”

“Just that you are so clearly one of the luckiest people alive, surviving a direct hit from a manticore, and then recovering in such a timely manner. How you gallantly removed the poison from your system, “at great risk to himself”, just to give the healers more time to save you.”

Albert glanced at him from over the top of the newspaper. “You’re quite the celebrity, apparently. Congratulations.”

He eventually relinquished the paper to Hadrian’s grasping hand, watching smugly as the other skimmed through the article, his face darkening with each line.

“Wait a minute – they just told her all of this information?” He asked, voice brimming with annoyance. “She mentions things that happened during my immediate treatment! How did she even get half of this?” He turned accusing eyes on Albert, as if he were the source of all of this.

Albert shrugged, reclining back and seemingly bored now that Hadrian’s brain was functioning normally. “Not a clue. Madame Maxime and the Minister are frothing at the mouth over the lack of security. Which is just adding onto the already big mess of you being hurt in the first place.”

Hadrian made note of that, but disregarded if for now. “There’s an investigation?” He asked, eyes reaching that section of the article.

“You seem surprised.”

“Not surprised, just…I would have thought that they would have solved the situation as quickly as possible so it did not,” he gestured with the newspaper, “escalate into this.”

“One of the champions almost died because of someone’s mistake. Some of the councilmen are out for blood. Something about ‘righting this terrible wrong’ and ‘avenging’ this attack on you. Personally, I think they just want to stir trouble with Britain.”

Hadrian snorted, tossing the newspaper back to Albert. “I’ve no doubt that is exactly what they are trying to do. But this whole thing is unnecessary. I already know what happened.”

“You have been unconscious since you were brought here a week ago.” Albert pointed out.

Hadrian shrugged, “Manticores are a largely unknown species. Everything we have on them is more theory than anything. Whatever they subdued it with, it must have built up an immunity to it over the decades – not entirely surprising.”

He rubbed his hand through his hair, absently grimacing when he was met with tangles. “The manticore knew what the task was, and knew that when I reached the box it would be injected. When I wounded it, it wanted revenge – again, not surprising. So it waited until I lowered my guard, believing I was safe. Then it struck.”

“And you figured that all out in the ten minutes you have been conscious?” Albert sounded amused.

“Yes?” Hadrian drew the word out uncertainly. “Why? Have they still not looked at it from that angle? Honestly, it’s not that big a leap in logic.” Another thought came to him. “Why not just ask the manticore? It’s not like it would bother lying.”

Immediately, Albert’s eyes darted away from his. Hadrian cocked his head.

“Albert,” he called sweetly, “why can’t they just ask the manticore?”

“It’s dead.” The other admitted bluntly. “The Dark Lord killed it using the metal you had gotten in its eye – exploded the head from the inside.”

“What?”

Albert winced, looking particularly uncomfortable when confronted with Hadrian’s harsh gaze and frigid tone. “It was killed.” Then, softer, “I’m sorry. I know how much you…like magical creatures.”

Hadrian breathed out flatly, hands curling into the blanket. “Voldemort killed it.” He said, not for clarification, but just to have the words out in the open. He ignored the look Albert sent him at the casual use of the man’s name.

Gods, he just wanted to punch something.

How dare he kill a creature so magnificent? How dare he take it upon himself to lay out his own twisted version of justice? What gave him the right?

Albert was speaking quickly, voice a buzz in his ears, no doubt trying to distract him from what he had just told him.

“You have not missed much in class, only a little bit of homework, but I think all the professors are willing to let you off the hook for any missed work.”

He killed it.

“- council is on Malfoy’s arse about this -”

Why? Because it was on a rampage?

“- and the Minister -”

Because it hurt me?

“- Riddle also said -”

“Riddle?”

Hadrian’s skin chilled drastically, and his stomach lurked.

Just the mention of the man’s name had everything rushing back to him. The legilimency. His secrets. Harry James Potter, in a voice so steely.

“Woah, are you okay?”

“I’m going to be sick.” He whispered, and Albert barely managed to summon a bucket before Hadrian was retching.

His throat burned as he threw up nothing, his stomach empty from the days without food. His back and arms trembled, and he started to shiver as he sucked in quick bursts of air.

A hand rubbed his back soothingly, and Albert’s fingers pulled through his hair so it was out of his face. The other boy was murmuring something softly, but he could not hear.

His mind was stuck on a loop.

Riddle. Voldemort. Riddle. Voldemort.

He curled around the bucket more, panting as panic clogged his throat.

I can’t believe…all this time.

Hadrian retched again.

I slept in his room.

“Better?” Albert asked, not unkindly. Hadrian breathed deeply, body shuddering uncontrollably. He looked down at his trembling hands as if confused about why they were shaking so much.

No.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m good.” Albert vanished the bucket.

“Hadrian?”

The call drew their attention, and Hadrian felt his throat constrict again at the sight of his mother standing there.

“Maman…” His arms lifted unconsciously, and all of a sudden she was there, her arms latching onto him and yanking him into her chest. He closed his eyes and sunk into her warmth, fingers digging into her clothes.

“Harry,” she breathed, her lips barely forming the word, and it was lost in his hair. She peppered him with kisses, never once releasing him from her grip. “I’m so happy you’re awake, darling.” Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks tenderly.

“I’m so happy you’re safe.”

His chest throbbed at her words, because they were not. Not now. And never would be again because Voldemort knew who he was – who they were. They were done for.

He knew he should tell her, she needed – deserved – to know of the new level of danger. But…

She looked so happy, her smile threatening to burst off of her face. It had been so long since he had seen her so genuinely ecstatic about something. No – him. It had been forever since she had looked ecstatic about him.

He wanted to bask in that for a little while longer, even if that made him a terrible person for risking them so.

Lily pulled away from him, hands vainly and absently trying to smooth over his hair. Hadrian spotted the wistful glint in her eyes, and his heart ached when he realised she was seeing James again.

When his hair was tamed with products, the resemblance between he and his father was lessened greatly. It had further removed the possibility that someone might have made the connection between them.

But there was another reason that he always kept his hair neat. It was so his mother did not get that look in her eyes. There was nothing he hated more than reminding her of her dead husband, because no matter how she tried to hide it, he knew it hurt her.

Hadrian would do anything to protect his mother, even from himself.

He loosened his grip on her, and felt no embarrassment at Albert witnessing this. He had almost died. He would like to see any of his classmates go through what he had and not reach for their parents in desperation.

He looked into his mother’s eyes, slumping forward in exhaustion. She smiled at him slightly, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispered, and his chest warmed at the praise, devouring it like a flower drank in sunlight. “Rest, Hadrian.” She coaxed, pushing him gently until he was laying on his back again.

She tugged the blanket up around his chin and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. He closed his eyes tiredly.

I need to tell you.

Chapter Text

Claire paced back and forth the length of their room with all the grace of an agitated lioness. Her stunning features were twisted into a small frown as she, yet again, made her way passed where Raina was lounging on her bed.

The dark haired girl did not even bother glancing up as her friend made another lap, content to simply read through her charms textbook. Claire had been in this state since Hadrian had awoken yesterday for mere moments, pensive and constantly murmuring to herself.

Raina knew better than to intrude on the other’s thoughts when she was like this. She was happy to wait until Claire was ready to talk about whatever was clearly bothering her.

Raina’s eyes ran over the passage she had been reading for the last three minutes, minorly frustrated that her mind was so preoccupied that she had not even taken anything in. It was just so difficult to do something as mundane as study, when her thoughts were never far from the hospital wing.

Or rather, the boy lying prone on one of the sterile beds there.

The past week had been agonising, waiting listlessly for any sign of Hadrian waking up. Each day that had ended without change had been disheartening, as they all felt his absence keenly.

Everything was…dull and uninteresting without Hadrian prancing around. At least to her things were. She had not even realised how quickly she had grown to enjoy the new rapport between the two of them until he was gone.

So seeing that smallest flash of green eyes yesterday had been like a balm on her fraying nerves. It was enough to loosen the stone in her stomach and let her truly breathe.

The knowledge that Hadrian would be up and about soon was the only thing that kept her from joining her friend in her pacing.

Claire passed her once again.

Raina refrained from sighing. Any second now.

“How can you be so calm?” the part-veela said, spinning to stare down at her with her arms crossed.

Raina flipped her textbook closed and rolled to face the other. “I see no point in working myself up over something I have no power to change. Hadrian is recovering, what more can I ask for?”

“But you don’t find it at all suspicious?”

“Find what suspicious, Claire?”

The incredulous expression on her friend’s face quickly morphed into something scornful. “You cannot be that daft, Raina.”

“Excuse you?” she sat up, eyebrow arched and eyes daring the insult to be repeated. Claire pursed her lips and wisely carried on.

“I merely meant that no one but me seems to find the fact that he was in a coma for a week – with no justifiable reasons – strange.”

It was Raina’s turn to stare at Claire. “‘No justifiable reasons’? Claire – he’s lucky to be alive!” Raina’s hands came up, but they hung pointlessly in the air, “His side was torn open, his skull was fractured, his magic exhausted…it’s a miracle they managed to put him back together at all.”

“I know that,” Claire snapped, “that’s not – I meant-” she stopped forcibly. “With the amount of treatment Hadrian got, a week-long coma is just…it’s wrong. A day or two would be understandable, he was injured severely. But he should not have been unconscious for that long.”

The blonde turned and moved to her desk, plucking a cream folder from its place and flicking it open. “Hadrian is in peak physical condition, and there is nothing from his family history that would indicate any problems medical-wise.”

Raina’s eyes widened. “Is that his medical record? How…why do you even have it?”

“It’s just notes,” Claire clarified. “not even I have access to student medical records. But that does not matter. The point is, with his overall physical health, plus his magical level, there is no way he should have been unconscious for as long as he was. It does not make any sense, and that is what I find suspicious.”

“So, what?” Raina asked, curling her legs underneath her. “I might not have your level of understanding with healing, but I do know that sometimes things like this happen. No situation is black and white. Sometimes patients react unpredictably to treatment. It does not mean that something untoward is happening.”

Claire lowered her folder and narrowed her eyes at her, displeasure written all over her. Raina rolled her eyes, gesturing with her hand sharply, “Fine, fine, continue. What, exactly, do you think is going on then?”

“I do not know.” She admitted, sounding horribly frustrated at her lack of information. “But whatever it was, it has to be more than just the physical wounds and the magical exhaustion. Someone of his age and strength would have woken within two, possibly three days. Hadrian took more than twice that to even show a flicker of consciousness.”

“Maybe it was induced then?” Raina suggested, but Claire was already shaking her head.

“The healer would have mentioned that when Amelia asked. He had no idea why Hadrian was not awakening either.”

Raina frowned thoughtfully, “That is…odd.”

“Exactly. I just cannot understand what is going on. People like Hadrian do not just fall into a coma unless something else occurred.”

Raina felt unease build in her. “There is talk that the manticore attacking Hadrian as it did was part of a plot against France.”

“To what ends? Killing-” her face screwed up, “-killing Hadrian in such a way would do nothing but strain relationships.”

“Maybe someone does not want our countries to form an alliance.”

The two girls stopped, sharing a dark look. This was dangerous talk.

A knock at the door distracted them.

As she was already standing, Claire moved to open the door as Raina stared down at her duvet.

“Jacob?”

Raina’s head lifted sharply, eyes straining to glimpse around Claire to see if their guest really was the Korin heir.

“Are you alright? What are you doing here?” Around the handle, Claire’s hand tightened fractionally.

“Claire,” and that was most certainly Jacob’s voice. “may I come in?”

“Of course,” the blonde opened the door wider and smiled kindly as the other entered. Raina tossed a polite nod his way when their eyes connected, unable to ignore just how awful Jacob looked.

Ever since the falling out with Hadrian, Jacob had progressively grown – not withdrawn, but subdued in a way that he had not been before. It made her more curious as to what exactly had occurred between the two of them.

Jacob smiled back, though it was done absently and his eyes were flicking away from her within seconds. “I am sorry for intruding ladies.”

“Nonsense.” Claire sat on her bed, looking up at Jacob with the same pleasant quirk to her lips. Raina almost rolled her eyes at the barely concealed adoration in her friend’s eyes. “What can we do for you?”

Jacob ruffled his hair, swallowed, and shifted. His other hand slipped into his pocket and his eyes roamed the room distractedly. He was terribly flighty, and Raina watched him with concern. She had never seen Jacob in such a state before.

“I was wondering if you had any news on Hadrian.”

“Oh,” Claire looked at her, eyebrows raised questioningly. Raina shrugged, seeing no need to keep the information a secret. “did no one tell you yet? He woke up yesterday.”

The boy’s shoulders drooped in relief, and his eyes fluttered closed. “Good. That’s – that’s fantastic.”

“I’m sure he will be even better tomorrow.” Raina carried on lightly, eyeing him shrewdly. She could not help but pick. “You could come with us when we visit him.”

Jacob jerked backwards slightly, panic flaring briefly over his face. “No.” He said too quickly, “No. That would not be a good idea. For anyone. I am sure Hadrian would prefer to recover in peace.”

“He almost died,” she said idly, noting how he flinched and disregarding the sharp looks Claire was giving her. “I am sure that whatever childish squabble you broke up over can be overlooked in this case.”

But Jacob was already shaking his head. “You do not understand,” he said quietly, “I cannot.”

“Why?” she pushed, suddenly annoyed at both boys. “Why can you not? What stupid little thing is stopping you from visiting your injured friend?”

She stood, hands perched on her hips. “Hadrian could have died – for the love of the gods, he was almost skewered! Do you really think him so petty as to hold whatever you did against you even now?”

“Not petty. But I can tell you now that seeing me will do nothing but make him angry. I would prefer to avoid pissing him off further thank you very much.”

“So you are happy to let him waltz into these dangerous tasks without closure? You do not want to fix whatever went wrong?”

“Of course I want to fix it!” Jacob shouted, startling them. “But it does not matter what I want – Hadrian made it perfectly clear that he had absolutely no interest in repairing our relationship.”

Claire slid between them, “But Jacob, maybe Raina’s right. Many people tend to have a change of heart when confronted with danger like Hadrian was. Perhaps he will reconsider?”

He laughed bitterly, “Trust me. Hadrian almost dying will only make him hate me more.”

“You are not making any sense!” Raina hissed, arms thrown wide. “Hadrian knew the risks when he nominated. We all did. He can hardly blame you for his accident.”

Again, Jacob’s face twisted unpleasantly. “But he can.” He murmured, and it brought the two of them to a halt.

“What are you talking about, Jacob?” Claire placed a hand on his arm, frowning.

“I cannot…I sworn I would not say anything.” He tried to step away, but Claire tightened her grip.

“Jacob,” she said softly, “please. You are hurting, and keeping this to yourself is clearly making it worse. Let us help you.”

The boy wavered, and Raina wisely allowed Claire to take over. The part-veela was better equipped to coax an answer out of Jacob than she was.

“What happened between you, Jacob?”

He glanced at her, conflicted. But after only a brief moment, he opened his mouth. “Hadrian did not enter the tournament. He did not want to be champion. I -” he choked off, tears prickling at his eyes. “I nominated him behind his back. I was the one that did it. I betrayed him -”

The sharp crack of Claire’s hand slapping his cheek cut through the air.

Raina stepped forward and grabbed the other girl, stopping her follow-up hit even though she burned to do the same.

She could not believe what she had just heard.

Hadrian…Jacob.

Jacob wisely did not turn his head back to them. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“We are not the ones you should be apologising to.” Raina said, still stunned at the admission, before it gave way to fury. “Get out.”

Jacob nodded, taking a few seconds to straighten his uniform before he moved to the door. He opened it, and jerked to a stop before he could leave. His entire body pulled taunt.

“Oh, Jacob,” Albert said, voice pleasant. “good afternoon. Are the girls in?”

“Obviously.” Jacob bit out, sliding his way passed the other boy and down the hallway. Albert watched him go for a few moments, smile fading into something almost angry.

“Well at least their fight makes more sense now.” He commented lightly, ducking in to see them. “You should really think of putting up more privacy wards, you are lucky it was me and not anyone else that overheard that drama.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were watching Hadrian?” Raina asked, arms still loosely holding Claire.

“Well I was, but I’m afraid I was kicked out by the decrepit healer.”

“What? Why? Has something happened?” Claire asked, her expression still showing traces of her temper.

“‘Something’, indeed.” Albert grinned at them. “Boy wonder is awake.”

And just like that, their bubbling anger was replaced by overwhelming relief. “We need to go see him then, come on -”

Albert blocked their path, his face tight. “That is, unfortunately, not an option. Hadrian has been put in isolation.”

“Isolation? Why on earth would he be in isolation? He’s healed!”

He shrugged, “I am only the messenger. All I know is once the healer found out he had woken for almost twenty minutes, his mother and I were all but banished and told that no one was to see him until they verified how…extensive the damage to his mind could be.”

“His mind?” Raina piqued up, confused.

“They are worried the hit to his head could have caused some permanent damage to his brain.” Claire said, hands wringing her skirt. They all knew how important Hadrian’s mind was to him. His intelligence was one of his most prized possessions. The thought of him having damaged his most valuable tool was disturbing for all of them.

“How did he seem? When you were talking to him, Albert? Did he show any signs of damage?”

The dark skinned boy nibbled at his lip. “He switched between English and French a little, but he has done that plenty of times when he was just tired. His speech and mannerisms were all the same from what I could tell. He could remember everything up until he was hit, and had me jumping through hoops within a few minutes.”

He smiled softly at them, “He was very snarky as well, honestly, a terrible patient, so demanding.” His expression became thoughtful. “Although, he did have one moment.” He looked down at them, confused. “I was merely telling him what had been happening in the last week, when he went horribly pale and started throwing up.”

“That is not entirely odd, his body could have still been processing what had happened and it caught him off guard.” Raina suggested, but Claire was frowning.

“Did you say anything to him that could upset him? Enough to cause a physical reaction?”

“I told him about the manticore, but that was a good couple of minutes passed. I was in the middle of telling him about Professor Riddle’s lecture when he just.” Albert rolled his hand in a way that was clearly supposed to mimic throwing up.

“It could have been a delayed reaction.” Claire murmured, and Raina rolled her eyes.

“Look, Claire, who cares why he was sick. He is awake. And the moment he is released from the hospital wing we will be there to welcome him back. And,” she continued darkly, “have a long chat about Jacob’s actions. I want to know exactly why Hadrian saw fit to keep this from us.”

OoO

“My Lady?”

She glanced upwards from the report in front of her, blood-red lips pulling back into a smile. “Yes?”

“The latest report on Evans’ state has arrived.”

“Indeed? How has my darling champion fared?”

“He has awoken, and appears to be in fine health, considering his injury.”

Her smile widened, eyes glinting dangerously. “How fortuitous. I would have been terribly upset if little Hadrian had been lost to us. He shows such promise, don’t you think?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Without a doubt my favourite.” She continued, fingers brushing tenderly over a photo of the boy in question.

“Do keep me informed should anything develop further. I can’t have him being poached by that false Lord. The last thing I want is him tainted.”

“Of course, my Lady.” With a bow, the man left her study as silently as he had entered.

Letting out a delighted sigh, she leaned back in her chair, allowing her relief to wash away the other, unpleasant emotions that had been filling her today.

Her dark eyes looked over the report she had been reading, mouth twisting upwards as she once again reread the title.

Grindelwald Dead! – Nurmengard’s Last Prisoner

Oh she could hardly wait.

Her fingers played with the end of her necklace, tracing the pendant there fervently.

She glanced back at the picture of Hadrian Evans, tongue tracing her lower lip as she took in the boy’s features.

This was going to be so fun, as long as a certain imposter left her boy alone.

A scowl came over her brow as she thought on her greatest obstacle.

Tom Riddle. An arrogant little prick, in her opinion. Also sticking his nose where it had no place.

Well, she would just have to teach him a lesson.

OoO

The next two days were torture.

Albert had not been joking when he had said that the healer was irritable. The gruff old man seemed to possess some form of sixth sense when it came to his patients; because whenever Hadrian so much as shifted too close to the edge of the bed, he appeared from nowhere with darkness promised in every crevice on his face.

Not even the healers back home were this unyielding. Typically, he could sweet talk his way out of the hospital wing within hours of waking up if there was nothing seriously wrong with him.

He would not dare to even attempt that with this one.

Not only because he looked more leathery than any human should, but because he had a horrible feeling that there was more keeping him here than just a concerned old healer unwilling to let his – admittedly grievously injured – patient loose before he was healthy.

‘More’ being a certain Dark Lord that now knew Hadrian Evans and Harry Potter were one and the same.

He was not even allowed any visitors – the old man claiming that they needed to evaluate his mental health, and having people disturb him could risk his recovery.

Which was complete and utter shit. Hadrian knew his limits and mind very well, and seeing his friends was not going to do more than alleviate his crushing boredom.

He was being isolated for a reason, and the longer he was left alone, the more anxious he began to feel. He had taken to tracking the healer around the empty hospital wing, hoping to unnerve the old man into submission.

And while he was having very little success on that endeavour, it at least kept his thought preoccupied from his other worries.

Namely why he was still breathing.

He did not know what Voldemort’s game was, but the complete lack of control he had right now honestly scared him. His very existence rested in the hands of the man who had murdered James Potter, who had been hunting for his mother and him for years.

And Hadrian could do nothing, trapped in this stupid bed without any way to even send his mother a warning.

He did not even know if his mother was still alive. Surely someone would have been by to inform him if something had happened to her, but he could not be sure. A lot could happen in two days, and she had no idea of the amount of danger she was in.

He needed to tell her about Riddle, and cursed himself for being so weak when he had first awoken as to waste precious time on a hug. He was not five years old anymore. He should not be so easily reduced to such a state.

But what bothered him more though was how betrayed he felt.

It was ridiculous, and childish, but he had truly liked Riddle. He did not trust the man – was hardly that stupid – but the potential had been there. A few more weeks, a couple of months, and he might have actually thought of Riddle as a possible friend.

Hadrian had to bite his lip to stop the hysterical laughter from escaping.

How close he had come to falling for it. Gods, how often had he ignored his instincts when speaking with the man? How many times had he pushed his doubts and concerns aside, purely because he was too curious?

He had always held a small amount of fascination towards Voldemort, it was natural to be curious about the person your entire life revolved around, after all. He had hoped coming to Britain would give him more information about his enemy.

He had never intended to get this close.

Hadrian rubbed at his eyes, jaw clenched as his headache made itself known once again. He sighed as his hands fell into his lap, and a glint of silver caught his eye.

His fingers traced over the bracelet that now enclosed his left wrist.

It had to have been put on him when he was unconscious, and while a part of him was eternally glad he had not been aware when Voldemort had come to do it, another part raged at the thought that Voldemort had been near him when he was so weak.

Having the man looming over him, holding his arm, studying him…he shuddered.

He was not used to being prey – and he was prey right now. He was helpless, just stewing in tension, waiting for the man to approach him. He had to know he was awake by now.

The fact that he was still alive was concerning enough, but Hadrian knew that Voldemort’s distance was not a good thing. The man was planning something, and he likely needed him for it to work.

Which begged the question of just what the man had in mind. For the life of him, he could not think of any reason as to why Voldemort would risk it; but whatever the man was planning, Hadrian sure as hell was going to fight it every step of the way.

He would not allow the man to hold this leverage – could not afford to – so he had to get the upper hand quickly. He just wished there was some way he could prepare himself for whatever was coming.

“Mr. Evans?”

Hadrian looked over to the healer, not bothering to mask his disdain. He might be able to acknowledge the man’s role in his recovery, but Hadrian was far too wound up to check his attitude.

“Minister Lécuyer is here to see you.”

He straightened as much as he could, eyes brightening when he saw the familiar face of his minister just behind the healer. “Merci beaucoup.” Lécuyer said as she slipped passed the man and seated herself by his bedside. “You may leave, monsieur.”

With a quiet huff, the healer did as he was bid.

Hadrian smiled at the minister, honest relief plainly written on his face. “Minister, you have no idea how grateful I am to see you.”

She grinned good-naturedly at him, decades falling from her features. “As grateful as I am to see you, I imagine,” she reached forward to place her slim hand over his. “you had many people worried, Hadrian.”

He relaxed back onto his pillows, hiding a wince as his healing muscles twitched uncomfortably. Even though the wound was long healed, the area was still tender. “My apologi -”

“No.” She cut him off, borderline snapping at him. Hadrian blinked at the vehement protest. “Do not apologise. Do you hear me? What happened to you was not your fault. It should never have occurred.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, wrestling the second, instinctive apology from the tip of his tongue. Lécuyer gave him a look that told him she knew exactly what he had been on the verge of saying.

“Now, how are you, truly? I have received nothing beyond the occasional update since you were placed in isolation.” Much like Albert before her, Lécuyer somehow managed to look completely comfortable in the stiff chair.

“I am…fine.” He sighed, and smiled slightly at her dubious look. “Honestly, Minister. My side still twinges every so often, but I do not even have a scar. I would offer to show you, but I hardly think that would be appropriate.” He said wryly.

“Undoubtedly, though you are hardly my type, Hadrian.”

“It’s the hair, isn’t it? I knew I should have dyed it blond.”

She chuckled softly at him, “More like several decades too young.”

Hadrian felt some of the tension in his vanish that longer they spoke. There was just something unfairly calming about Lécuyer. Either that, or it was the fact that he doubted Voldemort would stop by when the French Minister was here.

“Other than that,” he continued, “I am good.”

“No head trauma? No blackouts or memory gaps?” She peered closely at him. “You were in a coma for a week.”

Hadrian rubbed at the back of his head, quietly tracing where his skull had clipped the rocks and marvelling at the smooth skin. Magic never ceased to amaze him. “My magic shielded my skull enough to keep the damage at a minimum, thankfully. As for the coma -”

The Dark Lord knocked me out when he ripped himself free of my mind with all the grace of a flubberworm, and it took me a week to recover from the damage.

“- I believe it was my magic keeping me unconscious, to protect me.” He was hardly in the mood to cause an international incident by revealing that. Not yet at least.

Lécuyer hummed, looking away from him with a small frown. “That is excellent news then.” She turned back to him. “I am very pleased to hear that, Hadrian. And while I hate to do this, we must discuss the second task.”

Hadrian took a deep breath, nodding in understanding, even though he hardly wanted to.

“You have been out of commission for a week, and that is a week your fellow champions have had to decipher their clues. Now the second challenge is a little more than a month away, after Yule, but we both know that you will need all the time you can to prepare.”

Gods, was it almost December?

He had hardly noticed the creeping chill in the rush of the past month. Glancing out the window, he could see the heavy clouds blanketing the sky, and knew snow would be close.

“The box, the one I had to collect – where is it?” This was just what he needed to occupy his roving thoughts, to distract himself until Voldemort made his move.

“The Dark Lord has been holding it, you will have to get it from him, I’m afraid.”

And just like that the pit in his stomach was back.

“The Dark Lord. Right.”

Lécuyer sighed lightly, her expression briefly contorting before smoothing out again. “I also feel the need to warn you.” Hadrian looked at her curiously. “There is quite a lot of, hmm, contention at the moment between France and Britain. Your accident has caused a stir.”

“How so?”

“There are some mutterings of it being deliberate.”

Hadrian started at that, eyebrows shooting up. “Assassination? Really? That’s completely ridiculous.”

Lécuyer clearly shared his opinion. “Unfortunately, these thoughts have a habit of lingering. I trust I can count on you to do your best to negate these whispers, if you encounter them?”

“Naturally.”

Assassination, Britain would not dare. Hell, Riddle told me point-blank he wanted me to survive the challenges. That was long before Voldemort discovered who I was, so he had nothing to do with the manticore attacking me.

He bleakly noted that he could not say the same for the following tasks.

“Good.”

“Minister Lécuyer?” he asked just as she stood, calling her attention back to him. “My mother, have you seen her lately?”

Lécuyer quirked a little smile at him. “Of course, I saw her only an hour ago at lunch. I was told your isolation will officially be ended tonight, so you should expect a flood of visitors tomorrow morning.”

“If I am still in isolation why are you allowed in?”

She straightened her robes and gave him a mischievous wink. “Maybe one day I will tell you. Have a good day, Hadrian.”

Lécuyer left the hospital wing, taking his good mood with her.

OoO

Sirius had officially lost his mind.

He walked as confidently as he could through the hallways, but his hands – buried deeply in his pockets, one curling around the little glowing trinket – were trembling.

He had been a mess of concern and anger since Harry’s match, having resorted to keeping in his suite for fear of letting something vital slip.

He had been so very proud of the boy, it was like a fierce storm in his heart that rose whenever the boy did anything.

Naturally, he had been terrified when the manticore had first struck out, but his fear had melted into intense excitement as his godson – his godson – danced his way through the arena, outsmarting the creature at every step.

The doppelgänger had thrown him, and it was only the fact that he had glimpsed the disillusioned figure as it moved towards the pillar that had stopped him from jumping into the arena to protect Harry when he had been caught.

Even knowing it was a distraction, Sirius had had to turn away from the sight of Harry ripped open and bleeding on the floor.

Because it was so easy for him to replace that face with another, and the feeling of failure had choked him so thoroughly that he had honestly missed Harry even reaching the pillar.

He had snapped back just in time to see his godson be swatted into the wall though, and Sirius knew he was not the only person in the crowd that had flinched at the sound of the impact.

His heart had frozen when Harry had slumped to the ground and had not gotten up. It had felt like a part of him had died in that moment, because his entire reason for being here was to protect Harry, and he could not even do that properly.

Sirius had leapt into the arena, and gods did it rankle him that he had not been able to go to Harry’s side. Because some fucking Death Eater had already slithered his way there. He had been unable to do anything, because after Voldemort had ruptured the manticore’s head, the Dark Lord and Rookwood had already secreted Harry away.

Sirius had visited during the week. Whenever he could get away with it, he had sat and simply stared at his best friends’ son and thought of what could have been.

He had found the silliest thoughts coming to him.

What was his favourite colour?

Did he enjoy flying, was he a prodigy just like James?

Was he a bookworm like Lily, did he sometimes get so lost in his books that hours slipped passed him?

What was his laugh like, had he ever laughed so hard he was gasping for breath with tears in his eyes?

Who was his first crush, his first kiss?

Such little, insignificant things but dammit he should know those things. He should know them.

This was his godson, his nephew in all but blood. He should have been there for every one of those milestones.

He should have been the one to torment the kid with gross stories, he should have been the one to sneak him his first drink, he should have been there to laugh at the awkward puberty years.

He felt cheated. He had missed so much of this wonderful boy’s life, and he hated that he had not been allowed to see him grow.

And as much as Sirius wanted to blame Lily for stealing that from him, he knew he had no right to judge her when he had no idea what her reasons were.

Which was why he was finally doing what he should have done the moment Amelia Evans had stepped foot in Hogwarts. He was going to get his answers.

Sirius refrained from tapping his foot on the staircase as it swung to the next floor, but still darted off before the two connected completely.

He made his way to the suites of the visitors, having already memorised which one was hers from the night before.

He came to a stop, chest lightly heaving as his hands clenched and unclenched rapidly. He was breaking so many orders right now.

This is it.

He knocked on the door as politely as he could.

“One moment, please.”

The door swung open after a few beats, and Sirius stared into the familiar yet strange face in front of him. “Can I help you?” She asked softly, the faintest trace of an accent coating her words.

Sirius blinked heavily, his tongue thick in his mouth.

There was not a flicker of recognition on her face, he knew with his glamour on she would not, but at the same time…

“Lily.” He croaked out, watching as her eyes widened and something very much like fear sparked in them.

“It’s me. It’s Sirius.”

OoO

There was someone near him.

Hadrian very careful controlled his breathing, and made sure not to move in the slightest. There was nothing that gave away his transition into awareness.

It was late, and the hospital wing was quiet; the healer having departed to his quarters across the hall for the night.

There was no need for anyone to be in here other than him, let alone someone sitting right next to him.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he opened his eyes to meet bright crimson.

Riddle smiled down at him.

“Hadrian,” he purred, “I believe it’s time you and I had a little chat.”

The Dark Lord gently closed the book he had been reading.

“Tell me, what do you know of the Order of the Phoenix?”

Chapter Text

Looking at him now, it was a wonder he had never seen it before.

The ruffled, chaotic black hair, the facial features only generations of pureblood breeding could create. It all screamed James Potter. Exempting the slimmer, shorter build, and the electric green of his eyes, if you slipped a pair of glasses on, he was his father reborn. It was a miracle no one had made the connection yet.

It was a miracle it took him this long to make the connection.

True, he had not thought back to that night so many years ago, in almost a decade. His mind had been dulled by his continuous creation of horcruxes, and his want to eliminate any threat to his power had consumed him for the longest time, making his recollection hazy and unreliable. But if there was one thing he did remember as clear as crystal, it was James Potter and his defiant, bright eyes.

Voldemort held no high opinion of bravery. He saw it as a reckless, unsavoury thing that pushed people to take unnecessary risks. He had no time for fools that threw themselves to their deaths.

That being said, James came very close to changing his view on the matter. The young man had earned a quiet respect from him, for while his actions had been foolish, and had led to his demise, his determination to save his wife and son had given him a strength almost unmatched.

Voldemort might not entirely understand the concept of ‘family’, but he could certainly relate to the urge to protect what belonged to you.

James Potter had truly been a challenge to defeat. As much as it might gall him to admit it, had the man not been so preoccupied covering his family’s escape, he might have had a chance of beating him.

And at the tender age of twenty-one.

Voldemort knew only a handful of witches and wizards who held that level of pure talent at that age. There was a reason James Potter was one of the highest ranking students to emerge from Hogwarts, as well as an accomplished auror and duellist.

If he had known of the potential there, he would have converted the man well before Dumbledore got his talons too deeply into him. Having someone of that strength working for him, and in such a delectable position, very well could have secured his victory over the old headmaster completely.

And while James’ actions had allowed his wife and child to flee, Voldemort could hardly find it in himself to hate the man. James Potter had been an opponent that was worthy of his respect. It was the primary reason Voldemort had let the Order take the man’s body from Godric’s Hollow and bury it unobstructed. Any magical blood spilt was a waste, no matter how much of it stained his own hands; and despite how furious he had been back then, he knew how to honour a fallen enemy of that calibre.

James would have made a worthy follower, but now it seemed fate saw fit to give him another chance.

The last heir to the Potter House, the one prophesised to defeat him, Harry Potter. But that was not quite right.

For he was also Hadrian Evans, the Beauxbatons champion, and by far one of the most intriguing individuals he had met in years.

Once his anger had cooled, and the bitter sting of his pride at being tricked had ebbed away, he saw this for the opportunity that it was. He did not want to kill the boy, not yet at least. There was so much he could gain from this unexpected revelation, and he still had to satisfy the curiosity the child had managed to invoke in him.

Now that he knew of the threat, he could take ample measures to keep Hadrian from attempting anything.

And, when all was said and done, when he had squeezed ever last drop of usefulness out of the boy, gotten every announce of amusement he could from him then – then he would kill him.

Loose ends did annoy him, after all.

He had barely read a sentence of his book before he sensed a miniscule shift in the boy’s magic. Instantly, his gaze locked onto his face, and a smile bloomed when Hadrian opened his eyes.

“Hadrian,” his teeth flashed, “I believe it’s time you and I have a little chat.”

A barely recognisable flash of fear shot through those green eyes, and Voldemort felt a rush of control.

“Tell me, what do you know of the Order of the Phoenix?”

To his credit, the boy did not even hesitate in replying. “Nothing you yourself don’t.”

He tilted his head, amused at the non-answer. He had expected the initial resistance.

“Truly? You expect me to believe that you never – not once – had any contact with Albus Dumbledore or his gaggle of supporters, in all your years in hiding?” He tsked mockingly, though there was no mistaking the threat in his tone. “I detest lying, Hadrian.”

The boy pursed his lips, thoughts swirling behind the green of his eyes. He could watch him think all day.

There was just something incredibly alluring about Hadrian’s intelligence and seeing the calculations form in his mind. Unfortunately, he did not have come here for that.

Seeing as he was not going to respond, Voldemort pulled free a vial and held it up to the dim light. It was clear, like water, but he noted how Hadrian’s attention zoned in on it and his entire body coiled in preparation to attack. “Thankfully, I have something here that might make you more agreeable.”

Hadrian shot upwards, but barely managed to get anywhere before his magic latched onto him, weaving around his limbs and pinning him back to the bed. Voldemort watched him battle the invisible bonds with interest, especially when he noticed how Hadrian’s own magic reared up at the assault.

He took grasp of the child’s neck and shoved his head back, baring his pale throat. He unstoppered the vial with his thumb and tapped the rim teasingly on Hadrian’s clamped lips. “Say ‘ah’.” He murmured.

The boy glared up at him mutinously.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes for only a moment before he was standing, looming over the bed. Hadrian thrashed, but could do nothing to stop him from jamming his knee into the tender flesh of his side. Tears erupted in the boy’s eyes immediately, but they did not spill.

More importantly, his lips remained closed.

Voldemort put more weight on the healed wound, knowing that the pain would eventually get to the boy. He studied the emotions twisting on the boy’s face curiously, because years of experience had taught him that while the emotions might be similar, everyone reacted differently to pain. He watched as Hadrian’s breathing grew harsher.

They both knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed, but Voldemort appreciate the fight nonetheless.

Seconds later, when Voldemort’s full weight was bearing down on him, Hadrian finally cracked. He shouted in pain, the noise loud enough to have woken the nearby healer across the hall if not for the silencing charm he had placed.

While the boy’s lips were parted, he poured the potion down his throat and curled a hand brutally over his mouth and nose to force him to swallow. He waited patiently while Hadrian struggled beneath him. His binds must have loosened – either that, or the boy had managed to free it himself – because one of Hadrian’s fists smacked against his chest.

He almost smirked, because with the little distance between them, there was no way the boy could gain enough momentum to harm him –

Pain burst in his lower abdomen, and he hissed more from the unexpectedness of it.

The bloody brat had shot his magic directly into his gut with his second hit, causing the muscles to spasm and his grip on his mouth to almost drop.

His second hand lashed out and snapped up the boy’s loose arm, pinning that one back to the bed. Hadrian bucked, murder written on his face, but his eyes were growing glassy, and his movement less wild. He eventually slumped, throat working once, twice – having no choice but to drink or suffocate.

“So stubborn.” He commented lightly, getting off of the trembling boy and moving back to his original seat. He ignored how quickly Hadrian was sucking in air.

“Y-” he coughed roughly, “You utter bastard. What did you give me?”

“The benefits of having a master potioneer under my command, is that all of his wonderful concoctions are passed through me before he publishes anything.” He took a moment to tightened the magical bonds around the boy, just to be sure. If anything, it was minor revenge for the way Hadrian had subdued him in his mind. “The delightful little potion circulating through you right now is his latest creation. You have heard of Veritaserum?”

Even in his current state, Hadrian still managed to toss him an offended look. Any self-respecting witch or wizard would know that potion, after all.

“Then think of this as its…improved version.”

Hadrian turned his head to stare at him. He graciously sated the boy’s curiosity. “There is no way to resist this one.”

And yes, there was the panic he had been waiting for.

But he barely had time to savour the expression, before something else took its place. Voldemort caught the slightest hint of defiance in the boy’s eyes, when Hadrian’s jaw locked.

Thrown, he could only blink when the boy grinned savagely at him, blood trickling down his chin and staining his teeth a vibrant red. His gaze followed the stripe of blood intently, heaving a sigh – because he honestly should have seen that coming.

“What am I going to do with you?” He asked, wand slipping into his hand. The boy grunted as he grasped at his thick hair, yanking him upright and snapping his head back again. The bonds changed to accommodate the new position. “Open your mouth.” He ordered, wand ready to heal whatever damage the foolish boy had done to his tongue.

Hadrian spat at him, the mixture of blood and spit landing on his temple as he jerked his head to the side just in time.

For a long moment he simply breathed, reigning in the sudden urge to crush Hadrian’s ribcage for his insolence. I still need him alive.

Instead, his wand slipped lower, until it was pressed against the boy’s navel. He paused only long enough for Hadrian to realise the new danger he was in, before he cast the curse.

Hadrian’s reaction was instantaneous.

Voldemort mercifully only held it for ten seconds. Pinned as he was, Hadrian could not clutch at his chest as he no doubt wanted, or so much as twist to get away. All he could do way lay, gasping in relief when the pain elevated, with his eyes squeezed shut and mouth hanging open as he tried to breath.

Voldemort wordlessly healed the boy’s tongue, released him and waited for him to recover.

“I do hope that taught you a lesson about respect.” He waved his hand and the pink-tainted spit vanished from his face. “I have enjoyed your spirit greatly these last few months, but my patience has limits.”

“You…didn’t have a p-problem when I told you to go fuck yourself.”

Still so bold.

“You believed you were speaking to Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort. If I had done more to discipline you then, you would have hardly trusted me further.”

“I didn’t-” Hadrian cut off, something like disgust rolling through his face.

Voldemort felt his mouth pull into a smug smile. Incapable of telling lies.

He knew all too well what the boy had been trying to say, and it pleased him more than he thought it would, to know on some small level, he had gained some of his trust. Even if the boy had been denying it for so long, he now had no choice but to confront the truth.

“I don’t trust you.” Was what was offered instead, but it did nothing to change the fact that Hadrian must also feel a sting at being tricked. His temper soothed rapidly at the knowledge that he was not the only one fooled.

“If that makes you feel better,” he said with a mocking nod, enjoying the indignation he received. “now, I believe we had business to attend to.”

And all at once, Hadrian tensed again. Voldemort was delighted, because that meant that the boy had relaxed to begin with.

“What is your name?”

“Hadrian Evans.” It slipped out under the influence of the potion, and Voldemort frowned, momentarily confused.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It is your real name, isn’t it? Why shouldn’t I call you Harry?”

“Because my name is Hadrian!”

Of course. Hadrian could only tell the truth of his own perspective. “My mistake. What is your full birth name, and those of your parents?”

Hadrian stared fixedly at the ceiling, eyes surprisingly clear considering what he had already endured tonight. He must be trying to beat back the potion’s effects, but his mouth opened again automatically.

“Harry James Potter, James Charlus Potter, Li -” he choked, but could not stop himself. “Lily Joyce Evans.”

“And how long have you lived in France?”

“Since November, 1981.” Was the clipped response.

Voldemort looked down at Hadrian, searching for more. While the potion compelled him to speak the truth, the boy was smart enough to know he could get away with giving the bare minimum unless otherwise asked. But from what he could tell, Hadrian was not withholding anything in particular. He supposed it was too much to expect that the child was aware of every little detail during the early years of his life. He would have been, what – one? No, Hadrian would not know all the specifics about his and his mother’s escape. But that was perfectly fine, he was more interested in other things.

One more question though, just to be sure the potion was truly working.

“Who entered you in the Triwizard Tournament?”

Hadrian’s eyes widened, clearly having not expected that. Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow at the look, watching as a barely visible flush of anger spread across the boy’s cheeks.

“Jacob Korin.” Hadrian said stonily, all traces of unease fleeing in the wake of his rage.

Excellent. Now that he knew the potion was working – because he doubted Hadrian liked acknowledging that snippet of information aloud – he could finally begin his actual line of questioning.

“Where is Albus Dumbledore?”

Hadrian met his gaze solidly. “I don’t know.”

“Where is the Order of the Phoenix’s headquarters?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you or your mother ever had any contact with the group, directly or indirectly?” Frustration bled into his tone.

“No.”

He sat back, openly scowling at the child.

Severus was one of the most gifted potioneers alive, and he had personally assured him that this potion was impossible to circumvent. No matter how strong the individual was, they would answer truthfully. It specifically rendered Occlumency barrier useless. He had seen it tested, had watched as some of his strongest followers were unable to stop themselves from answering whatever question he posed to them.

Severus himself had taken it, and if there was one thing the man was better at than potions, it was Occlumency. If anyone would have been capable of escaping the potion’s effects, it would have been him.

He looked closer at the boy.

Hadrian’s hands were twisting the sheets ruthlessly, bunching the fabric. His body was covered in sweat from the earlier curse, and while he had regained control over his breathing, his muscles still seized occasionally. Talented though he was, Voldemort doubted Hadrian would have the strength or ability to overcome the potion.

There was no possible way he could be lying.

But he had been positive that the Order was behind the boy’s disappearance. The whole plan spoke of Dumbledore’s conniving mind, relocating the remaining Potter’s to another country to protect them – a country Voldemort would be in no way ready to move against for at least a decade. It was exactly what he would have expected from the man.

If Hadrian had never any contact with them though…

“Why?” He asked, and when the boy did not answer – could hardly do so, with such a broad question – he clarified. “Why are you not connected with the Order?”

Hadrian’s lips pressed together futilely, eyes darkening. “She does not trust them.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes.” He bit out, and his magic crackled warningly around him. Voldemort ignored it.

“And why is that? Why does she not trust her friends and allies, people she fought beside for years? Why does she not trust Dumbledore?” Lily Potter had always struck him as one of Dumbledore’s most avid supporters. And despite her tainted blood, she was an intelligent woman; she would have known Dumbledore could have protected her.

The fact that she had run to another country completely to keep her son from both of their grasps was both intriguing and odd.

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“Pardon?”

Hate, ugly and destructive, crossed the boy’s face. “Peter Pettigrew betrayed us. One of their oldest friends – my uncle – served us up on a silver platter to you. If he could do that, there was no telling who else you had gotten to.”

Ah yes, sweet Peter. So eager to please, so terrified of his own greed and lust for recognition. He remembered that moment well, flushed with success when the snivelling young man had given him the secret of the Potter’s safe house.

He remembered how Peter’s eyes had shined with tears, how his lips trembled even as he spoke. How one could almost smell the guilt emitting from him, even as he willingly betrayed those that trusted him completely.

He wondered what would happen, if he were to place Hadrian and Peter in a room together; there would surely be blood. He put that idea to the side for further evaluation.

He could perhaps understand now the terror Lily Potter must have felt when she realised they had been deceived. How the doubt would have flooded her, the questions of who could I trust, who could I turn to? that would have plagued her.

“So she fled with you. Took you to France, far away from the protection of the only man powerful enough to stand against me.” Humour coloured his words. “What a fool.”

Hadrian thrashed suddenly in his bonds, and Voldemort suspected he would have attempted to hit him again if his limbs were not currently preoccupied. “She had just lost her husband! We were being hunted like animals! What did you expect?” He spat, “Coherent thinking from a woman running for her life, trying to protect her only son from someone like you?” He laughed, loud and bitter. “No. She was acting on her instincts, and by doing so she saved my life.”

The boy looked at him, piercing him with his eyes.

“Because of her I was able to live a life without war or bloodshed. I was able to grow up relatively normal. I was able to go to a school that wasn’t drowning under your influence. My mother may have made a mistake not going to Dumbledore, I don’t know and I don’t care. All I know is that she has always done what she believed was right for me. So don’t you dare sit there and try to insult her, when she has dedicated her whole life to keeping me safe.”

Voldemort paused, noting how aggressively Hadrian had jumped to his mother’s defence. He had seen small instances of this burning loyalty – how Hadrian was always quick to appear if he perceived any threat to the woman. It had been amusing in the beginning, and he had used that devotion to draw the boy out before. Now he wondered if there was more to it than that.

For while the words were nothing he would not expect from a child such as Hadrian defending their parent, it was the tone that invoked his interest. He did not know many children whose first reaction to something like this, was to bypass anger and descend right to homicidal.

He cocked his head, intrigued.

“Your mother was a fool.” He repeated, carrying on before a new slew of protests could erupt, “But I cannot fault her actions, in fact, she has undoubtedly helped me by taking you far from Dumbledore’s poisonous teachings.”

And that was entirely true. He could feel the taste of victory on his tongue already. This here was Dumbledore’s precious saviour, but one that had never met the man, had never been influenced by his ridiculous ideals. This was a James Potter without a steady Light mindset.

Hadrian might preach his lack of skill in Dark magic, but he was a liar. Some of the magic he utilised rested very firmly on the Dark side of the magical spectrum. Even the overall taste of Hadrian’s magic was an intoxicating mix of the two branches. If the boy was already dabbling in the Dark arts, than Lily Potter was either more ignorant, or more open-minded than he had originally believed.

Whatever the answer, he could work with this. The Dark arts were addicting to most, and all it would take was a small push from the right angle, and Hadrian would fall to the pull of power.

Plus, the idea of snatching Dumbledore’s little prophecy child right from under him, of turning the Light’s one last hope Dark, was too good to pass up.

“You say you have had no contact with them, which I believe means until now, Dumbledore had no way to find you or your mother. He has grown desperate these past few years, his belief in winning had dwindled. Your return seems to have…reignited his hope.”

If his increased movements mean anything.

He had Hadrian’s full attention now, and it pleased him that the boy had settled unconsciously as he spoke. This might be easier than he thought.

“He will be quite eager to speak with you.”

Hadrian frowned, and Voldemort decided to loosen the bonds around him slowly. Green eyes stared at him, swimming with curiosity and wariness, as he pushed himself upright. He let Hadrian rearrange himself in peace.

“You want to use me to get to him.”

He refrained from smiling at the astute observation. If there was one thing he did not tolerate in others, it was stupidity. Enemy or ally. “Precisely.”

“The Order is one of the only factions still actively opposing you.” Hadrian raised his eyebrows. “Why on earth would I help you stop them? My entire life has been dedicated to killing you.”

Voldemort crossed his legs, sending a small, indescribable grin in his direction. The boy’s magic flared tellingly.

“Do you love your mother, Hadrian?”

The rage he was becoming accustom to blazed back to life in his eyes.

“Obviously.”

“Would you do anything to protect her?”

“Yes.”

“Would you willingly throw yourself into harm’s way, if it was the only way to save her life?”

“Yes.”

“Would you give up everything you have been working for, to keep her safe from me?”

The boy’s head dipped slightly, eyes finding the stone floor. “…yes.” He whispered.

“Then there is your answer.”

Hadrian took a deep breath, face dropping into an impressively blank mask. “So either I help you find Dumbledore, or you will kill her.”

“Oh no,” Voldemort leaned forward, smile sharper than knives. He waited until he caught the other’s eyes. “you will help me find Dumbledore, or for every rebellious act you commit, I will take a limb, starting with her fingers.” He said, soft and light, “And once she is reduced to little more than a bloody stump, I will enter her mind, and I will make her witness the death of her husband again and again and again, until she is nothing but blubbering mess. Then, and only then will I return her to you, so you can see what your own disobedience led to.”

Hadrian flinched, but it was the slightest of movements. Voldemort had to commend the child for his control. He had seen much older and wiser people crumble to their knees with similar threats. But it was not enough. He needed to see more.

“And your little friends,” he continued mildly, pleasantly. “I will of course endeavour to come up with something particularly creative for them should you not do this. I can’t kill all of them, true, but there are so many ways in which to destroy people.”

He stood, smoothing down his front and slipping his outer robe back on. “I trust you will do the right thing, Hadrian. I am not a man to be tested.” He adjusted his sleeves and reached into his pocket. “Help me end Dumbledore and his Order, and no harm shall come to your mother, your friends, or you.”

He pulled out a simple wooden box and placed it carefully on the bedside table.

“I expect you to tell me immediately when they initiate contact with you, and know that should you mention any of this conversation to anyone besides myself, they will pay the price. Pleasant dreams, Hadrian, and I look forward to seeing you next class.”

He headed to the doors, pausing just on the threshold to turn back. Hadrian had not moved except to tilt his head just enough to look at his parting gift. His expression was strange, but his eyes were whirring with thoughts and emotions.

He did not look defeated, not in the manner most would after such an ultimatum. No – he looked alive. And Voldemort felt like he was truly seeing the boy for the first time.

“I can’t help but wonder,” he called back, blood soaring when Hadrian’s eyes slid to lock onto him. “that after all I have done, all I plan to do…Do you hate me?”

He closed the door before he heard the answer, content with the knowledge that Hadrian would do what he wished. He did not need an elaborate plan to get what he wanted. Often times the best way to keep someone in line was with the simplest threats.

The boy’s one glaring weakness was his love for his mother. As long as he held her life in his hands, Hadrian would bend to his commands.

Oh, he had no doubt the boy would try and wriggle his way out of this, but the thought of playing this game with him was exciting enough that he was looking forward to see Hadrian’s next move.

With what was almost a spring in his step, he made his way back to his office, only to stop just around the corner. He braced a hand on the wall and frowned at the ache in his abdomen.

His hand deftly tugged at his crisp white shirt, pulling it from where he had tucked it into his pants and lifting it high enough to see his stomach.

There, right where Hadrian had hit him. A livid bruise burned across his pale skin, a large blotch of purple and black. He pressed his hand lightly to the wound, hissing when the pressure caused a flare of sharp pain.

He leaned against the wall completely and immediately began to heal the damage the boy had done. He tilted his head back until he could feel the chill of the stone through his hair, eyes closing.

Voldemort laughed.

OoO

Sirius honestly expected to have the door slam in his face. Lily looked caught between two decisions, conflict darting across her face.

He held his breath, not daring to hope.

Her eyes – brighter than he remembered, more like Harry’s fiery shade then the lovely green of his memories – turned icy as she stared at him. He could see her son in that calculating gaze.

She stepped aside, holding the door open in invitation.

Sirius felt like grinning as he ducked inside. He barely waited for the door to close before he was speaking. “Lily – I don’t even know where to begin! You, you were gone. I don’t -”

He turned to face her, and flinched backwards away from the tip of her wand. His hands lifted automatically, and he cursed himself for his own naivety. He should have expected this, should have been prepared for this reaction.

“Lily.” He stepped away from her, keeping his voice steady. “Let me take down my disguise. I’ll prove it to you. I am Sirius.”

Her hand did not waver, and she remained silent.

He swallowed at the lack of anything on her face. What had happened to the lively woman he had known?

“L-"

Her spell slammed into his chest, careening him back and into a leather chair. The material came alive, wrapping around his wrists and ankles and tightening uncomfortably. Sirius glanced from the leather restraints, to Lily’s blank face, and felt for the first time that maybe he had acted a bit too hasty.

I knew I should have approached Harry first.

Her next spell, thin and purple, smacked into his face.

Sirius twitched as he endured what felt like worms crawling over every inch of his skin. He shuddered, but a simple look at his hands revealed that his disguise had been torn away. Trust Lily to know the exact counter to such an advanced charm.

He peeked up at her, trying for a smile even as his stomach churned. “See? Regular old me.”

“What was the first thing you ever said to me?”

She had dropped the accent at least, which meant she either believed him and knew it was no longer needed, or she did not intend to let him go. He prayed it was the first.

He frantically tried to think back to his first meeting with the woman, but it had been so many years ago that he was not entirely sure. He squinted, and shifted, and took a guess. “‘Have you done McGonagall’s assignment yet’?”

Her wand rose an inch.

“Bloody hell woman! It was decades ago! How am I supposed to remember the first thing I ever said to you? I was eleven! Why not ask me what my best man speech was? I remember that. Or how you about you ask me about the time you took me as your date to the Christmas Slug Club party, because James pissed you off, and you thought it would be hilarious?”

Sirius watched as the hard look in her eyes began to waver. He continued swiftly, bringing up whatever he could.

“Or how about that time when James was on an assignment in Germany, and your sister didn’t invite you to her wedding, and I sat you down and said that she was a jealous crone that couldn’t stand the idea that you might outshine her?”

He closed his eyes, throat tightening. “Or how about that my last words to you and James were about how I would see you tomorrow morning, and when I tossed James his wand, I said he was a bloody awful auror because he never kept it on him?”

There was no word to describe the noise she made.

“…and he laughed and said that he’d prove you wrong…that he’d keep it on him all night and hex you when you came over again.”

Lily’s voice was so soft, so bloody sad, that Sirius had to open his eyes again. He watched as her wand fell to her side, and just stopped himself from sighing in relief. They stared at each other, and after a few moments, where his heartbeat was thundering in his ears, Sirius saw her face begin to ripple.

Hair as dark as night bled into the vibrant red he remembered, poisonous green eyes lightened, her cheekbones receded slightly, and her face rounded. All such subtle shifts, but in that instance she went from Amelia Evans to Lily Potter, and Sirius felt like he was home for the first time in years.

“Lils.” He said, pushing himself up as the bonds fell away from him. He stepped towards her, arms coming up in an almost forgotten instinct. However, she shuffled back, arms crossed defensively. He could see her walls desperately trying to stay up, and his heart broke for her.

“Please don’t, Sirius.” She whispered. “I can’t.” She blinked rapidly, voice cracking. “I can’t.”

“Hey, hey,” he slid closer, stopping only a few feet from her and fighting the urge to just crush her to his chest. “it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s me, you’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you, Lils.”

“No,” she said, though she did not retreat again. “you don’t understand. I can’t trust you.”

He beat back how much those words hurt him.

“Lily, it’s me. Of course you can. I’m your friend, we went to school together, I was James’ best mate -”

“So was Peter.” The interjection was quiet, but it stopped him cold. He had to wrestle against the hatred that burned through his chest at the mention of that…that…

“Peter was our friend. He went to school with us. I helped tutor him. He was like a brother to James. He loved Harry, he held my baby like he was the most important thing in the world, he played with him, he ate with us, spent time with us – and he still betrayed us. So no, Sirius, no I can’t trust you. Nothing you can possibly say would make me even consider -”

He reached out and grabbed her, not harshly, just firm hands on her shoulders. She struggled initially, tugging away from him even as he reeled her in. She thumped against his chest, hands pressing against him. Sirius ignored the tautness of her as he wrapped his arms around her, trying to show her everything he could never say.

She did not melt against him, she did not lean closer or even tilt her head into his neck. But her hands, still so small and pale, curled into his robes in a quiet acceptance.

“I’m not Peter,” he said into her hair. “I’m not him.”

I would never betray you.

Chapter Text

Lily accepted the cup of tea Sirius passed her, fingers curling around the warm china and holding the steaming beverage just below her chin.

Sirius was seated across from her – not in the leather chair, he could still feel the phantom touch of the restraints – with his hands resting on his knees. He studied the woman quietly, familiarising himself with her features again.

He had no idea what to say.

He had so many questions, so many things that needed to be discussed. But now that the moment was here, he found himself unable to voice any of them.

The silence between them had a physical weight, and Sirius wondered if he had ever felt so alienated from one of his friends before.

He rubbed at his thighs, unbearably uncomfortable.

Lily took a delicate sip of her tea, eyes fluttering closed. She sighed once, and dropped her head in what Sirius could only classify as defeat. “Just ask, Sirius. I swear I will answer what I’m able.”

And just like that, his mouth opened.

“How are you? And Harry, the both of you – are you…are you okay?”

She did not look at him as she placed her cup on the saucer and sat back, hands folded in her lap. “We are as well as we can be, I suppose.”

That was not the comforting answer he had been hoping for, and he frowned. “No, Lily. How are you? You’ve been gone for so long.”

Her face was infuriatingly calm. “We were, and we’re fine, Sirius. We’re alive, and that’s all the matters.”

He strangled back the response to that, because ‘alive’ and ‘okay’ were too completely different things. There was a hardness to Lily’s eyes though, that warned him off pushing further. He swiftly changed routes.

“Why did you run?” It was, perhaps, the question he should have started with, but Sirius was honestly still overwhelmed with the knowledge that Harry and Lily were within touching distance to really care about the hows and whys. He knew that Dumbledore would want to know though.

“I’ve already told you,” Lily looked away from him, jaw tight. “I didn’t know who I could trust. Peter had sold us out, James was dead or dying for all I knew. I had no way of knowing who I could turn to.”

“But why not just come to Dumbledore? If there was anyone you could be sure of-”

“Dumbledore is a complex man, Sirius. He had built a web around himself, filled it with lies and misinformation and traps. I couldn’t go to him for the same reason I couldn’t go to you, or Remus, or any of the Order. His suggestion to settle and use the Fidelius Charm lost me my husband. How could I know it wasn’t planned? How do I know he didn’t want us to be in the one place, to make it easier to find us if the secret did break?”

“Dumbledore would never have done that.” The mere thought that the former headmaster was capable of such a thing was sickening.

But Lily only shook her head slowly. “I couldn’t know that. I was scared, Sirius. I was absolutely certain I was going to die, that my baby would be killed, that James would have died for nothing. I could only trust my instincts, and they told me I was better on my own.”

Sirius closed his eyes, anger and sympathy warring inside him. He could imagine the feeling of loss Lily had experienced, mirrored from when he had renounced his own family. That uncertainty and fear of what lay ahead had been near consuming. It was only through James that he had managed to survive, to beat back the shadows of his past.

He had had James to lean on during that time, and the Potter’s, and Remus and even Peter.

Lily had been alone, with a small baby and a broken heart. Could he really blame her for doubting them all?

No.

He sighed, feeling far older than thirty-seven.

“I get it,” he said, voice exhausted. “but then why go to France? Why not just go underground? The Potter’s had more than one house you could have sought refuge in.”

Lily shrugged, bitterness seeping into her.

“Voldemort was winning, even before he attacked us, he was so close to achieving his goal. I couldn’t take the risk of being trapped in Britain if that happened. We would have been hunted like dogs – hell, we still were, even in a completely different country. Wanted posters, ridiculous rewards for even news of our sightings. Those first few years were…” she brushed her hair out of her face, “they weren’t good.”

She shook her head, chasing the stray thoughts away. “I couldn’t be in Britain. I couldn’t risk Harry. But I also couldn’t afford to be somewhere so far away. I needed to go somewhere that didn’t have the direct threat of Voldemort, but that was still close enough to keep informed. France has the military, political and economic power to challenge Britain if it needs to, while still being an ally.”

Sirius absently crossed his arms, allowing himself to get swept along by Lily’s words like he had so many times in the past.

“And asides from that, Beauxbatons is almost as formidable as Hogwarts in terms of defences. Harry would have been safe there, and he would learn a more neutral stance on Light and Dark magic.” Lily frowned lightly, her hands squeezing into fists. “I was more than a little shocked when he was tested with an affinity for both, but I suppose it works out better -”

“Whoa,” Sirius interrupted. “what do you mean ‘tested’?”

Lily looked up, doe-eyes blinking in confusion. “Ah, I forgot that Britain doesn’t do that. When the children enter the secondary part of Beauxbatons, they undergo a simple test to show which magical branch they are better prepared to handle, or which one their core leans more towards. The results are private, and it helps the students to better understand their own skills and abilities as they progress.”

Sirius sat back, surprised. “And Harry – you said he was both?”

She nodded, “Yes. Not terribly uncommon. Grey magic doesn’t necessarily mean anything really. Just that Harry is perfectly capable of casting both branches with minimal effects on himself. Of course, the more he uses one branch in particular, the more his magical core will begin to lean towards that one, but so far he’s done a splendid job of keeping himself neutral.”

Sirius felt his stomach clench at the thought of Harry casting Dark magic. He knew all too well the addicting pull of the branch, had lost his brother to it, his cousins, his whole family really. He did not want his godson to end up like Bella, so drugged on violence and the pain of others that nothing else was important.

Grey magic was, as Lily said, not uncommon. About one-in-eleven people were Grey. Most just did not discover the fact until they were well into their majority. He was just confused as to why Harry was one.

His parents were both Light magic users, and the Potters – while having married with quite a number of Dark families – were predominantly Light as well.

A small, pale hand covered his. His head rose, and Lily offered him a smile. It was somewhat stilted, nothing like the warm grins of their youth, but it was comforting all the same.

“He knows the dangers, Sirius. He swore only to use Dark magic when he has no other choice. I want him to have as much of an advantage as he can for when the time comes, and unfortunately that means him learning exactly what will be used against him.”

He slowly turned his hand over and caught hers in a gentle grip. Her fingers flexed automatically, but she did not move away.

“Does he know?”

“About the prophecy?” There was a bitter amusement in her tone that confused him. “Yes. I told him quite some time ago, when he first asked me why we used different names in public.”

“And when was that?”

“When Harry was six.”

Sirius reared back, hand slipping out of hers. “Six? Lily! Merlin’s beard!”

She leaned away at his outburst, honest confusion in her eyes. Sirius felt queasy. “You told a bloody child that one day they were expected to rise up and kill the most dangerous Dark Lord we’ve ever seen? What the hell?!”

And just like that, the budding softness on her face evaporated. Sirius felt like he was drowning. “I did what I had to do to protect us, Sirius! Harry had every right to know exactly what was expected of him when he was older. Would you have preferred him growing up completely oblivious to the danger we were in every second of every day? That I spring it on him when he was a teenager – yes, I’m sure that would have gone well.”

“Of course not! But maybe don’t tell a six year old that. Bloody hell Lily – did you even consider what that’d do to him?”

“It helped prepare him. He needed to know how dangerous things were. He needed to start planning early, he had to have time to develop the skills he needed. I wouldn’t let him face Voldemort unless he was ready. I wouldn’t risk my own son.”

Sirius swallowed the sickly feeling that rose in his throat. He hated hearing this, hated the idea that Harry had been neck-deep in these sorts of problems – plotting to overthrow a Dark Lord – since he was little more than a boy.

He hated that he could see the logic in her words more. Because from a tactical view, preparing Harry from early childhood would give him the best chance of facing Voldemort.

But at the same time…

“He’s just a kid.” Sirius murmured, eyes dropping to the floor.

“He’s not.” Lily said, voice quietening. “He’s never been just a kid, Sirius. From the moment he was born he’s been a target. I know it, you know it, Harry knows it.”

He rubbed at his face, pushing away the despair in him. “Okay, okay. I get it.” He sighed deeply. “So how did you get to France? We looked for you as well, there was no record of you – or any of your alias’ – leaving the country.”

“That’s because I didn’t go through magical means.”

And suddenly Sirius couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped him. “Of course,” he groaned, “of course you didn’t. You just booked a plane ticket didn’t you?”

Lily smiled at him, head dipping in acknowledgement. “I got some muggle money, got on a plane and didn’t look back until I had lost us completely in France.”

“Who’d you get the money from though? You wouldn’t have had time to exchange any.”

Here, a strange emotion flitted in her eyes. “I went to Petunia.” She admitted, “That night, when I apparated. I landed in her front yard, splinched. She took me inside, helped me.”

“But…you hate Petunia.” There was no doubt about it, Sirius remembered the fall-out clearly. Had seen how much Lily hurt over her stubborn, bigoted sister. The idea that Petunia – nasty, rude, cold Petunia – would help her sister was…it made no sense.

“I do – did.” Lily, eyes fixated somewhere over his shoulder, smiled sadly. “I doubt that’s changed. We’ve both said things to the other over the years, grown too far apart to ever be close again but…” she shrugged, “we’re sisters. We might hate each other, and loathe the very idea of spending time together, but she’s still my big sister, and I’m still her little one. That’s never going to change.”

Her hands twisted in the fabric of her night gown. “I think it’s because I was crying.” She said softly. “When she opened the door,” she clarified when Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I was barely able to string two words together, I was covered in blood, I had a baby with me…She didn’t say anything at first, just – let me in. She took Harry from me, put him in a crib with her son, cleaned me up, got me fresh clothes, bandaged me.”

Lily looked down, expression conflicted.

“When I finally managed to tell her about James, and said that I needed to leave the country, that we would probably never see each other again…she just helped me book a flight, gave me money, drove us to the airport.”

Sirius was silent.

“I don’t know why, but I just knew she would be able to help me. Blame it on my dormant belief that my older sister could always fix everything, I don’t know. She was the only person I knew that would help me, that I could trust to help me. There was no way she would be connected to anything Voldemort-related, and she hated Dumbledore with a passion so the Order was out too.” She bit her lip. “Maybe I just wanted to see her, one last time.”

Sirius looked away from his old friend, mind buzzing with something he could not identify.

Regulus.

His brother was dead, he knew it even though it was never confirmed. He did not know how, or why, or when, and Sirius felt both relief and pain at the thought. Relief, that his little brother was finally free of their family’s hold, and the influence of Voldemort. And pain because he did not know what happened.

Had Regulus been scared? Did he even have a chance to be scared before it happened? Did he have any regrets? What was his last thought? Did…did he cry out for anyone? Wish for someone to be there with him?

Had he begged for his older brother to save him?

Sirius breathed deeply, slowly unclenching his fists and glancing down to see the small red marks littering his palms, left from his nails.

“I want to meet Harry.” He demanded, the words bursting out from him before he even completed the thought. His head rose to pin Lily with a sharp look. “I want to meet my godson – not as Abernathy, I want him to look at me and know who I am. I need him to know that I’m here for him.”

Like I couldn’t be for James, like I never was for Regulus.

“Sirius -” Lily began, and he could see the denial on the tip of her tongue.

“No.” He cut her off, head shaking. “He is my godson, my bloody nephew. I’ve already missed too much of his life – I’m not missing a moment more. Either you set up a meeting, or I will approach him myself.”

She was frustrated, but all Sirius could see was Harry.

“He’s not going to trust you, he trusts the Order even less than I do. You forcing a relationship on him that he’s not ready for will just push him away. You’re a stranger to him, Sirius. He won’t react well.”

“I don’t care,” he did – he really did. The idea of Harry not wanting him in his life was unbearable. But Sirius was nothing if not determined. He had to try. “he’s got a godfather, and he’s going to have to accept that – as well as all the perks I come with.”

“We don’t need the Order’s help.” Lily bit out, fingers tight around her wand. She had not lifted it yet, but the threat was there for him to see. Sirius ignored it.

“You really do.”

“No, we don’t. We’re doing fine by ourselves.”

“Oh yes, Harry in the Triwizard Tournament seems to be going swimmingly for you. Tell me, was it all part of your grand plan to have him fight a manticore? Or what about cracking his skull open? I’m very interested to know how that factored in.”

“It wasn’t -” Lily shoved her hair out of her eyes again. Her lips were nothing more than a thin white line cutting across her face. “We do have a plan, and no, being champion wasn’t in it, but we’re working around it.”

“You need help,” he insisted. “two people can’t fight a war, Lils.”

“We’re not waging war.” Lily said, head tilting back to him. The glint in her eyes chilled him. “We’re starting a revolution – and if history has taught us anything it’s that sometimes all it takes is one person to change everything.”

“You need allies, you need support. A war, a revolution – it doesn’t matter. You can’t beat him by yourselves. You’re not just fighting the man himself, you’re fighting his ideas, the belief system he has spent over a decade assimilating into the people. Killing Voldemort won’t fix what he’s already done. You need us to help challenge the ideals.”

Sirius slipped from his seat and knelt in front of her, gripping at her forearms. She looked down at him blankly.

“Please Lily – I know you don’t trust Dumbledore, I know you have your doubts. You’ve been by yourself for so long, you and Harry against the world. But you can trust me. I would never try and trick you like this. I would never jeopardise Harry if I thought there was even a chance of him being in danger.”

She was wavering, he could see it.

“Just meet with him, just once, Lils. Talk to him and listen and then you can decide. Don’t turn us away yet, please. Give us a chance to prove ourselves, and you won’t regret it, I swear.”

“Okay.” She whispered, “Okay. One meeting with Dumbledore, and then I’ll decide.”

Sirius felt a grin kick up the sides of his mouth, her next words stopped it in its tracks though.

“But you can’t meet Harry, not now.”

“What? Why -”

“Sirius he has enough to deal with right now. The second task is coming up, and he has to prepare. On top of that he has all his regular classes. He has to tread so carefully right now. I can’t risk him becoming unbalanced by another weight, no matter how good your intentions are.”

“But what about the meeting with Dumbledore? Aren’t you going to bring him?”

Lily closed her eyes, steeling herself. “No. Harry won’t be involved in any of this until I make my decision. If I chose to join forces, then I’ll tell him. But for now, he doesn’t need to know.”

She was not wrong. Harry did have a lot on his plate right now, and there was no need to burden him unnecessarily until they were sure.

At the same time though, Sirius suspected the boy might not appreciate being kept in the dark, especially over such an important decision. He just hoped Lily knew what she was doing.

“Alright,” he agreed. “no Harry, for now.”

OoO

Hadrian slid his white shirt up and over his shoulders, wincing slightly at the pang in his side. He looked down at the bandages still wrapping around a majority of his chest, and sighed.

He was exhausted, having been unable to get any rest last night after the Dark Lord’s visit.

He was still reeling from the conversation, his thoughts twisting and writhing in his mind as he tried to see if there was any way out of this mess he had been so kindly dropped into.

Mostly, he was disappointed in himself. He had been so utterly and fantastically beaten by the man. He should have anticipated the move, should have known he would be cornered so soon, before he could even think of telling anyone anything.

He was an idiot. There was no excuse for his stupidity.

And because of his mistake, he was now at the mercy of his biggest enemy.

“…and I will make her witness the death of her husband again and again and again…”

He glared down at the tie in his hands, fingers curling around the silky fabric until it was strangled in his hold.

“…and know that should you mention any of this conversation to anyone besides myself, they will pay the price.”

The eyes on his snake bracelet were mocking him, even unlit as they were.

“I’m going to destroy you.” He hissed, even though Voldemort was not listening to him right now. He would have to re-draw the runes, so until then he would have to keep one eye on the thing at all times, just to be sure when the bastard was paying attention.

He dropped the tie so it landed listlessly on the hospital bed and started doing up the buttons on his shirt.

He had other things to worry about right now, namely, what he was going to do when the Order contacted him. Hadrian might want to throttle the man, but if Voldemort was absolutely certain that Dumbledore wanted to meet him, then he was probably right.

But what would he do when he was confronted with Albus Dumbledore?

Hadrian ran his tongue over his bottom lip in thought. He had mixed feelings about the man and his followers, but much like with the Dark Lord, there was a level of fascination as well.

He would not be opposed to meeting Dumbledore, if only to satisfy his own curiosity.

“Hadrian!”

He turned just as two arms snaked around him, and a body collided with his chest. Hadrian wheezed, stumbling back from the assault as his side twinged.

Immediately, his attacker released him and stepped back, hands flying to the half-obscured bandages. “I’m so sorry!” Claire exclaimed, eyes popped wide in concern. “They said you were healed!”

Hadrian reached out and caught her fluttering hands, smiling at her. “I am, mostly. It only hurts when there’s pressure.”

“I want to check it.”

His smiled swiftly turned delighted, his mood brightening from her presence. “Claire, how forward of you. If you wanted to get me out of my shirt then -”

She smacked him, only to look guilty when he twitched in discomfort.

“Oh no, he’s finally found a way to avoid punishment for being annoying. We can’t hit him if he’s already hurt.”

“Raina, darling, is that you skulking in the shadows?” Hadrian chuckled, “Come into the light, we already know you’re hideous so it won’t make -”

Claire whacked him again.

“Why?” He whined pitifully, gazing at Claire in betrayal.

She sniffed, but he caught the beginnings of a relieved smile on the corners of her mouth. “I almost miss coma-you. You were much more agreeable.”

“And a delightful conversationalist too, I’d wager.” He replied, swiftly finishing buttoning his shirt. He looped his tie around his neck, fingers deftly moving through the motions. When he was done, Hadrian opened his arms wide.

Claire instantly slipped into the space, her arms much more carefully sliding around his waist as she buried her head in his neck. “I was so worried.” She admitted, and Hadrian tightened his hold on her. “When you got hit…you were so still, and there was so much blood. And then in here, you were too pale, and looked so small and I just…”

“I know,” he murmured, one hand running through her hair. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

She stayed for a beat longer before pulling away. Hadrian turned his attention to Raina, and he hesitated briefly, before offering his arms to her.

Raina and he were on surprisingly good terms for the first time since they had met, but he had no way of knowing exactly what she considered him. She had called him a ‘friend’ once, so he was willing to take another step.

Wordlessly she moved into his embrace and hugged him lightly. He loosely wrapped his arms around her and was surprised when he briefly felt her fingers curl into his shirt. It was a sign of weakness he had not expected from her.

She pulled away after only a few moments and moved back next to Claire.

“Do I get a hug too?”

“No.” Hadrian shot Albert down without so much as glancing at him.

“Pity,” the dark skinned boy commented, not sounding at all bothered by the rejection. “I even bought you a present.” He held up a bag, and Hadrian’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

“Finally,” he breathed, taking it from the other and immediately rooting through it. “I’ve been going crazy without anything to keep me occupied.”

He pulled out the first sheet of parchment he could, scanning it quickly. His eyes closed in pure bliss.

“Never in all my years have I seen a student so pleased to be given homework.”

“Raina,” Hadrian put a hand on her shoulder. “you don’t understand. Humans need mental stimulation or they go crazy. I have been in this room for days, with the most interesting thing being the patterns of the bed sheets. This,” he held the paper up to her, “is my salvation.”

She swatted his hand away, but her eyes were amused.

“What’s this then?”

Hadrian glanced over at Albert, who was holding the wooden cube Voldemort had given him last night. Instantly, his good mood vanished. “The clue to the second task.” He said, taking it away from the other and dropping it into his bag.

“Have you made any progress?” Claire asked.

“I was only given it recently, so no. I’ve had…other things on my mind.” He sighed, eyes drifting to the side, and completely missing the significant look that passed between the other three.

“Speaking of the tournament,” Albert began, sounding odd. Hadrian turned back to him curiously. “we recently came by some…interesting information.”

“Okay? Is it about the second task? Please don’t tell me I have to fight another creature.”

None of them so much as smiled, and Hadrian frowned at the unusual solemnity of his friends.

“No, it’s about your nomination.” Claire took over, only to stop when Hadrian’s face turned stony, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“What about it?” And Claire had to take a moment to be amazed with Hadrian’s level of control. Not an ounce of his irritation was present in his voice, even though his eyes were glinting dangerously.

“We know about Jacob, and what he did.” Raina finished when Claire took too long, unwavering as Hadrian’s eyes cut to her. She raised an eyebrow back coolly. “We know he entered you behind your back, we know you had no desire to be the champion, and that you cut him off because of this.”

They waited quietly for his reaction, and were surprised when Hadrian merely sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to kill him.” He declared darkly, dropping his hand and grabbing his bag.

“Wait.” Albert’s hand closed around his forearm. “Look, none of us particularly care that you did not want to be champion. No one with any sense would completely want to be in a death contest. What bothers us more is what Jacob did to you. He betrayed you, that is not something to be taken lightly.”

Hadrian ducked his head and scowled at the stone floor. “Look, even if he did, the offence was against me. You three have no authority on how I deal with it.”

“That’s not it, Hadrian.” Raina stepped closer. “You are our friend, and he hurt you. Say the word, and he’s out of our lives as well.”

Hadrian stared at her intently, equal parts touched and uncomfortable with the statement. It warmed him to know his friends would so readily rally behind him, but it was also a reminder of Éric’s ominous comment on his influence over his peers.

His eyes went from Raina to Albert, then, finally, to Claire.

Her face was smooth and unreadable, but looking at her, he found his anger at Jacob waver. Claire was torn, over her feelings for Jacob and her friendship with Hadrian. She was angry, and hurt on his behalf, but she still cared for Jacob.

Hadrian knew, then and there, that if he asked it of her, she would cut Jacob from her life. She would kill any potential love she might find with the other boy, purely because of her devotion to him.

“No,” the word slipped out unbidden. “no. This is my issue, not yours. I’m still furious with him, and likely will be for a long time, but I cannot allow my own relationship with him to colour yours, and I ask you to not let that be. If you want to be friends with him, then do it. I need time for my anger to cool, and when it has – who knows? I may be open to his friendship again.”

He smiled at Albert and Raina, “I appreciate the support, but it is not necessary. I would never forgive myself if I came between anyone and their other relationships.”

Hadrian glanced passed them to lock eyes with Claire. She gave him the tiniest nod, eyes shining with gratitude.

Raina and Albert looked mulish at his words, but they respected his decision either way, which was all Hadrian could ask for.

He clapped his hands together, “Now, I am famished. Breakfast?”

He held his arm out to Albert, grinning brightly. “Madame.” The other cocked an eyebrow but took the proffered limb, daintily placing his hand on his elbow.

“Finally, someone who acknowledges my status as a high-class lady.” He drawled, and the four of them laughed.

Hadrian lead them out of the hospital, glad to put the place behind him and eager to get some food before attacking his growing workload.

They made it all the way to the second floor before they were intercepted.

“Täubchen,” Adalard Forst greeted when they almost crashed into each other. The Durmstrang student’s eyes moved between each other, before settling back on Hadrian. His friends shifted, knowing who Forst was, but having had little interaction with him they were too cautious.

“Forst,” he nodded back politely, ignoring the horrible nickname, and wondering what the other wanted when he did not immediately move on. “how have you been?”

The Durmstrang student’s eyes flashed in dark amusement. “Petter zan you, undoubtedly.”

Behind him, the others bristled. Hadrian merely grinned, amused despite himself. “Undoubtedly.” He agreed. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Nein, it is more how I can help you.”

Well this was an interesting development. He had known Forst was intrigued by him, and had spent time leading up to the first task hovering nearby, but the other had never really gone out of his way to offer him assistance with anything.

Though this had been the primary reason he had even bothered entertaining the German boy in the first place – answering whatever inane little questions he could – on the off chance he might get some information out of him.

Hadrian stepped closer, “I’m listening.”

“You have your box, yes?” Hadrian barely blinked at the switch to German. His hand came to rest on his bag pointedly.

Forst nodded in approval. “I take it you know little about it?” And when Hadrian nodded again, he continued. “It is a puzzle, one you need to solve by moving and rotating certain sections. There are at least two layers. If you make an incorrect move it reverts back to the beginning, and you are…well,” he grinned savagely. “shocked.”

Hadrian’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Who comes up with these challenges?” He muttered, annoyed already. “I take it Kaiser has already made progress.” He asked.

“Indeed, and I know Malfoy has as well.”

“Leaving me at a disadvantage.” Hadrian studied Forst closely, shrewdly. “Why are you helping me? Shouldn’t you be backing your own champion? Why should I even trust you?”

Forst shrugged, seemingly unconcerned he was helping another school’s champion. “You are impressive.” He justified. “You are strong, and cunning, and a dangerous person. I respect your skill, and I respect your conduct.”

Hadrian tilted his head, magic brushing against the other boy and feeling nothing but sincerity.

“Thank you,” he said, completely genuine. “I appreciate this.”

Forst grinned at him, and Hadrian held out a hand and they shook. Forst’s hand was calloused and warm, and Hadrian was content that he now had a new connection to work with.

“Come, we need to go to the Great Hall.” Claire interrupted, “No doubt everyone will want to see you are alright.”

“Surely there’s been something more interesting than me in the papers by now?” He complained as they set off again, Forst lingering by Albert.

“Zere has.” Forst confirmed, and intrigued, Hadrian looked to the others for an explanation.

“Grindelwald’s dead.” Albert said, “A couple of days ago, but it only just hit the papers. Everyone is talking about it, wondering how he died.”

“Old age?” Hadrian suggested, finding the news less exciting then he had thought. Grindelwald’s reign had been a long time ago, and the former Dark Lord had been secluded from the public’s eye for so long that almost all interest in him had waned long ago.

Besides, Voldemort had succeeded in making himself so much more effective than his predecessor, that the old German wizard was more myth than an actual person these days.

“There’s a rumour of assassination, actually. But no one can confirm it, so that’s why everyone is talking about it.”

“Who cares,” Raina snapped, “he’s dead. Let the world move on.”

Hadrian glanced at her in worry, the vehement reaction not unreasonable for her, but still strange. “I agree,” he said, “Grindelwald has been dead for years as far as everyone else is concerned, no need to constantly dwell in the past now that he’s finally gone.”

Claire nodded quickly in agreement, her eyes fixed on Raina; and Forst and Albert remained quiet.

“Are you -”

A sharp crack cut Claire off, and Hadrian blinked as he was momentarily blinded by the flash of a camera.

“Well, well, well, Beauxbatons’ champion back amongst the living, how incredibly fortunate!”

Hadrian bit his tongue to hide the grimace at the sound of her voice. “Mademoiselle Skeeter.” He said, slapping a charming smile onto his face and cursing the woman’s arrival.

“Mr. Evans, so glad to catch you here,” she sauntered closer, gold teeth shining threateningly between her blood red lips. “Everyone’s been so concerned over your health, they’ll be comforted to hear of your swift recovery.” Her perfectly manicured hands pressed against her chest in what might have been relief if this were anyone else.

I’m sure. “Thank you, mademoiselle.” He dipped his head in a short bow. “I own it all to the talented healers though, if not for their quick actions and skills, I might have died.”

“Which would have been a travesty.” Skeeter rushed to tell him, as if Hadrian needed the reassurance. He could feel the faint tremors from Claire brushing against his arm as she tried to curb her laughter. Hadrian subtly flicked her in vengeance.

“My friends I were just headed to the Great Hall for breakfast, mademoiselle. Was there something you needed?”

Skeeter bared her teeth in what was probably supposed to be a smile, unperturbed by his unspoken order for her to leave. She sidled closer.

“Why yes, actually. You see, this tournament is so fascinating to all of my readers, and I’ve managed to snag an interview with all the champions, except you.”

“We have already had an interview.”

“Oh, Hadrian!” She laughed, patting him on the arm in a move so patronising he almost smacked it away. He probably should have, for she used the opportunity to slither her arm around his shoulders and pull him into her side.

He looked back at his friends, none of whom moved to help him.

“We had an introductory interview,” Skeeter said, drawing his attention back to her, and the painted talons digging into his upper arm. “but everyone is so much more eager to hear from you now that the first task is out of the way. You’re in first place after all! And every loves the drama of your injury. Why they’re practically ravenous for news of you.”

Lucky me.

Hadrian stopped walking, dropping down and under her arm to escape her hold. She blinked in surprise at his evasion, half-turned back to stare at him.

“I would be perfectly happy giving you an interview, mademoiselle. However, in the middle of a school day is hardly the best time. I am absolutely swamped with class work as well, having missed a week due to my dramatic injury. I’ll be sure to let you know when my schedule frees up. Until then, perhaps your lovely readers will be content to hear that I am up and walking, and ready to tackle the next task when it happens. Au revoir.”

He spun on his heels, marching back to his friends and linking arms with Claire to drag them away before the reporter gathered her wits.

They ducked around several corners before he groaned, “She’s got a grip like a python.” He said, rubbing his arm to soothe the pain.

Claire lost her battle and started laughing, Raina close behind her. Hadrian scowled at them, though the expression feel away into fond exasperation when they just laughed harder. “Yes, yes, make fun of the injured one. Mark my words, that woman is more dangerous than any magical creature.”

Albert clapped a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “I fear for you, my friend.”

“Kaizer vanted to hex her afder her interview.” Forst told them, an easy grin on his face.

Hadrian shook his head. “I would probably lend a hand. Now let’s go before she hunts me down again.”

OoO

“Fils de pute!”

Hadrian yanked his fingers away from the wooden box, glaring at the innocent-looking object.

“Mr. Evans!”

He turned his gaze on the professor at the front, just barely clearing his expression before he met her eyes. “Yes?” he bit out, agitated.

Several of his classmates broke into silent giggles, and he could see Albert and Sophia hiding the lower half of their faces.

“Is the work not interesting enough to hold your attention for more than five minutes?” She said, mouth tight in disapproval. Hadrian barely stopped his eyes from rolling.

They went through this same routine every lesson, with her harping at him about his lack of effort in class, and him easily demolishing every question she tossed his way until she returned to her sulking.

“Of course not, professor, I’m merely…preoccupied.”

He gestured at the box, then held his hands up as if to say what can you do?

She was less than amused, unlike the students, who tittered louder.

“If you can’t bring yourself to complete the classwork, you can stay after and finish it in your own time.” She threatened, and this time Hadrian did roll his eyes. He reached for his quill anyway and quickly breezed through the three questions she asked them to complete.

Her frosty eyes watched him as he picked up the box again and immediately began twisting and fiddling with it again.

“Are you okay?” A voice asked him softly. Hadrian’s eyes slid to the girl next to him.

Hermione was still focussed on her own questions, but her head was tilted slightly in his direction, awaiting an answer.

He sighed, “I’m just stressed. Nothing to worry about.” He said, equally quiet lest he bring the professor’s attention back to him.

“Draco’s having trouble with it too.” She informed him, “But he’s on the second layer.”

“Yes well, I only just got it.”

She frowned, “That’s hardly fair.” She protested, “It wasn’t your fault you got injured. The others should have had their boxes withheld until you recovered.”

Hadrian chuckled, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Hermione,” he chided, “this tournament is many things, but ‘fair’ is not one of them. I’ll be fine, I always am.” He patted her elbow before returning back to his box.

The little bastard was even tougher to figure out than he had anticipated, and Forst had not been lying when he said they were shocked for wrong movements. His fingers were still tingling from the latest zap.

The first layer was a ridiculous combination of a rubix cube and an ancient Chinese puzzle box. And every mistake, his fingers were singed with a small zap of lightning.

He did not know whether to commend whoever invented this, or punch them in the face.

I bet it was Riddle. Everything else has been his idea after all.

Hadrian nibbled at his lip as his fingers flew over the first few mechanisms with ease, having solved them earlier. He hesitated when he reached the next sequence, slowly flicking one part, then pressing in. When he was not shocked, he smirked in victory.

His thumb brushed against another knob, and his hand jumped away. “Merde!” He spat.

“Enough!” The professor said, standing swiftly. “If you’ve completed the work, out with you!” She pointed at the door. “I will not have any more disruptions from you Mr. Evans. Out!”

“With pleasure.” He grumbled, swinging his bag onto his shoulder and making for the exit, passing a snickering Albert on his way.

Closing the door behind him, Hadrian groaned in relief. “That woman is quickly killing my love of runes.” He said, walking down the corridor and towards the stairs. He slipped the box back into his bag as he went, determined to get it out again when he returned to the safety of his room.

He got to the staircases and stepped on the first one to appear, his mind already wandering.

He was…conflicted.

He knew he should tell his mother of Riddle being Voldemort and what the man wanted him to do.

There had to be some way to keep her protected.

They could move her back to France, far away from the man’s influence, until it was safe again. They could inform Lécuyer of an anonymous threat against his mother, get her into protective custody. They could do a whole number of things to get her out of the equation, to keep her from harm’s way.

His hand closed around the bracelet.

But he was afraid. He was terrified that Riddle would react and counter any move Hadrian made. The threat against his mother was a very real one, and Hadrian knew Riddle would not hesitate to act if he tried to disobey the man.

His was afraid, and that pissed him off.

He hated feeling this powerless, hated the lack of control and the uncertainty. He hated being outsmarted.

Hadrian had always known that Riddle was dangerous, he had just never realised how much until the man had traipsed through his mind like he owned it. The raw power he had witness in that brief clash of wills was humbling.

And while Hadrian might have nothing against taking risks, he could not do so now. If it were just him in danger, if it was his own safety he had to worry about, then he would push back. But it was not. His mother was the target, and Hadrian would do whatever it took to protect her.

Even betray an entire organisation of people with the same goal as him.

The Order were not his allies. They were not his friends. They were virtual strangers to him. He knew their names, their ages, their backgrounds, but he did not know them, and he was happy to keep it that way.

Yes, Dumbledore would be absolutely fascinating to meet and talk with, but compared to his mother’s life and wellbeing? Hadrian would not hesitate.

What concerned him more was what would happen after he did as Riddle asked. He doubted the man would just let them go on their way, and it was that unknown that left him uneasy.

Riddle held all the cards in this situation, but if he thought Hadrian would simply roll over and let the man do whatever he pleased, he was in for a rude awakening.

He would do as he was ordered, for now. He would wait and watch for the Order. He would tell Riddle whatever he needed to. He would play along with this role of spy until he found a way out of it.

Then he would kill the smug bastard for ever thinking he could control Hadrian.

He refused to be a pawn.

Chapter Text

Lucius stared at the parchment in his hand, more than a little perplexed.

“A…ball, my Lord?”

The man’s red eyes slowly moved from whatever he had been studying on his desk, to look at him. The attention, much like always, was both arousing and horrible in its intensity.

“That is what I said.” His Lord drawled, an eyebrow lifting smoothly. Lucius lowered his head, both to show deference and hide the confusion he knew would be in his eyes.

“May I inquire as to why?”

It was just so odd. True, his Lord had worked tirelessly to ensure Hogwarts was largely removed from other aspects of his rule – in an attempt to keep the school a school. But there had never been any form of dance or ball in all the years since he had won the war.

His Lord hummed, attention already drifting back to his previous focus, lips curled into a small smile. Lucius had obviously caught him in a very good mood, if he was so blatantly showing his pleasure.

He briefly wondered what it was that captured the man’s interest so intently.

“The Yule Ball is a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament, Lucius.” His long pale fingers tapped idly on the wooden surface of his desk. “Who be we to deny tradition?” There was a note of ironic amusement in the man’s voice.

“Of course, my Lord.” He hesitated, eyes scanning along the list with a growing sense of bewilderment. “The Weird Sisters?” He murmured, more to himself than the other. His thumb traced over the dried ink, as if to verify that what the intricate handwriting said was true.

“Ah, yes,” his Lord leaned back in his seat, “I wish for you to procure their services for the night. They are certain to…liven things up.”

“A rock band, though?” Lucius could not quite curb the disdain in his voice. He was eternally glad that both Draco and Hermione were more sensible than the other children their age, being more concerned over their grades and futures than obsessed with celebrities.

His Lord waved a hand at him. “The night is for the children, Lucius. A chance for them to unwind and relax from the stress of the tournament. They have no desire to listen to a perfectly composed orchestra all night. Let them have their fun.”

He could see the logic behind that. Times were changing after all, and the younger generation was almost a different breed to Lucius’ own.

“Very well, my Lord. What would you like us to do in terms of decorations?”

Again, the man dismissed the question with a faint air of distraction. “I will leave the main preparations in your capable hands, Lucius. I trust your tastes will be impeccable.”

Lucius nodded, already mentally constructing a rough idea of what he wished the Great Hall to look like for the night. Despite the presence of a band of miscreants, he was determined to have a pleasant, traditional Yule theme. It would somewhat nullify the unavoidable unruliness of the students as the event worn on.

And he was sure their international guests would appreciate the effort.

“Shall I announce the news this morning at breakfast, my Lord? It is only a handful of weeks away, and would be best to give the students time to prepare for the night.”

“Perhaps dinner would be a better time. Best not to test our esteemed professors’ patience in their lessons with the buzz.”

Lucius almost felt foolish for suggesting otherwise. Of course dinner would be a more suitable time.

“Make sure they understand the ball itself is only for the upper years. There will be a smaller event planned for the younger students.”

He nodded again, making a note of the order.

“How is your son faring with his clue?”

Lucius looked up at the unexpected question, observing that his Lord was still preoccupied with what was on his desk.

“I have attempted to remain somewhat distant during the tournament, my Lord. To avoid any claims of favouritism or cheating.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.” The humour in the older man’s voice was tinged with something else infinitely more dangerous.

“He has progressed to the second layer. I wager he will have the clue within the next week.”

“Good,” his Lord’s head tilted. “and Ms. Kaiser?”

“I believe she is much the same, my Lord.”

“And Hadrian?”

Lucius’ mouth opened automatically, though he paused.

Hadrian.

It was unlike the Dark Lord to address someone – much less a student – in such a familiar manner. It was a common courtesy to not use one’s first name unless permission was given. The Dark Lord similarly adhered to this unspoken rule, despite the fact that as the ruler of Britain he was well within his right to do whatever he pleased, with little – if any – consequences.

It was yet another reason Lucius admired the man so.

Only those that had the honour of working with the older wizard personally, or had a long-standing relationship with him were addressed with such familiarity.

To hear his Lord say the Beauxbatons champion’s name so casually, as if it had fallen from his tongue so many times before, was surprising.

Lucius remembered the dark haired boy quite clearly. He still felt irate over being so easily outsmarted by the child, months ago in Korin’s office.

He had known there was something intriguing about the boy originally, his instincts were rarely wrong about such things. He had seen how intelligent and dangerous the boy was in those first few minutes – the way he so blatantly challenged a foreign minister, the glint in his eyes that practically dared Lucius to push back.

And he had seen the way those eyes had flickered, just briefly, before his personality had changed to obnoxious.

He had let himself be so easily led astray. Let a mere boy manipulate his opinion in the span of a few seconds.

It had only been Hadrian Evans’ nomination that had led to him revaluating his view, and what he discovered had certainly been eye-opening.

A mudblood, but the top student at his academy, holding some of the highest marks Beauxbatons had seen in decades, personally connected with a majority of the high socialites’ children, a shoe-in for a comfortable political career once he graduated.

After the wand ceremony, his doubts were finally confirmed. There was something so clearly wrong with Evans. Not even Draco, raised from birth surrounded by the dangerous aspects of politics, had the same measure of control as Evans did.

Certainly, the boy made mistakes, and from his observations, he was still susceptible to his emotions. But his mind was like a steel-trap, and he had no issue looking someone in the eye and threatening them – as he had done with Ms. Skeeter. There was no way the tenacious woman had written such a flattering piece about the boy without some vicious persuasion.

In an abstract way, he reminded Lucius of the Dark Lord.

Which made him wonder if he was not the only one to see that faint echo.

As Tom Riddle, his Lord would have definitely interacted with Evans on more than one occasion, giving him ample time to build up the rapport he had only glimpse at on the second gathering night with the foreign politicians.

But to be so familiar with each other, as to call the boy by his first name? Lucius must be missing something.

“He is still on the first layer, to my knowledge.”

“Give him time, I only gave it to him the other night.” For some inexplicable reason, the edges of the other man’s mouth curled upwards. Lucius stared at the odd little smile with no small amount of fascination.

The Dark Lord was hardly an impassive man. He had enviable control, but he did not hide his emotions behind a frosty wall of indifference.

That being said, Lucius had never quite seen such an expression on his Lord’s face before. He would be tempted to call it fond if not for the sliver of cruelty lingering in the background.

“You visited him in the hospital wing, my Lord?”

That was…strange. Evans could have easily been handed the box after he was released.

The expression on the other man’s face grew more pronounced, and his fingers brushed lightly over his abdomen. There was a heaviness to his gaze now.

“There were a few matters I needed to address privately with him.”

What that truly meant, Lucius could only guess at. He felt the stirrings of intrigue low in his gut at this barefaced interest his Lord was showing.

Evans was impressive to be sure, and could be an ideal ally in the coming years. Was his Lord considering recruiting the boy while he was still young? Gaining a small foothold in France would have merits.

His Lord blinked, gaze sharpening. “How goes Bella’s hunt?” He asked, apparently done with discussing Hadrian Evans.

Lucius folded the list and slid it into the upper pocket of his coat. “She has gotten her hands on the official reports and, hmm, tactfully questioned the guards that were present that night.”

His Lord’s lips twitched in amusement, much fainter than before. “Tactfully, I’m sure. And what did she uncover?”

“Nothing suspicious. For all intents and purposes, he died naturally.”

If his Lord were lesser, he thought the man might snort. “Tell me Lucius, how old was my predecessor?”

He took a moment to make the calculation. “One-hundred and fourteen, I believe.”

“And what is the average life-expectancy for our kind?”

Though this answer came much swifter, Lucius felt much like one of his Lord’s students, being slowly led along to the solution. “Anywhere from one-hundred and thirty to one-hundred and forty.”

His Lord hummed, eyes pointed somewhere off to the side. “And of course, someone as powerful as Grindelwald would be expected to exceed that by quite a lot, even with his less-than-stellar conditions, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lucius nodded, somewhat hesitantly, beginning to see the logic behind sending Bellatrix to investigate the death of Grindelwald. “You believe he was killed, and the entire report is a coverup.”

His Lord shrugged, the simple roll of his shoulder filled with apathetic elegance.

“Have her take another, more thorough look.”

“With more…lenience, my Lord?”

“It has been a while since I allowed her to stretch her claws.” Was all the man offered, now plucking a letter from his desk and holding it out. “I’ve outlined my desires within, ensure it reaches her.”

Lucius stepped closer, fingers grasping at the course parchment, eyes lowered.

Unconsciously, he scanned the top of his Lord’s desk, when he saw the most curious thing.

Open, directly in front of where his Lord was sitting, was a file. A small array of photos stared up at him.

One, clearly a standard school photo of Evans, lips pulled in the slightest of smiles. Another, a clipping from one of the many articles written on the tournament, showing Evans leaping at the manticore. And another, from what appeared to be a party of some sort, Evans standing next to Korin’s offspring. And just next to that, the boy dancing with who Lucius recognised as Fleur Delacour, an assistant to the French Undersecretary.

The letter he was attempting to take was suddenly immoveable. Lucius was so surprised his eyes immediately snapped up from the strange assortment of photos to catch the burning gaze of his Lord. The man’s fingers were pinching the parchment tightly.

He barely refrained from swallowing at the very clear warning in those crimson eyes, but knew better than to hold the intense eye contact for long.

“Forgive me, my Lord.” He apologised, though for what, he was not entirely sure.

Lucius was not an idiot, he now knew precisely what had so enraptured the other man’s attention earlier. But just what was his Lord doing, with a file filled with photos of Evans?

The older wizard said nothing, though after a handful of moments where his gaze scorched through him, he loosened his grip and allowed Lucius to take the letter.

Lucius bowed, and swept from the room as quickly as he could, still able to feel the weight of those eyes on him even as he walked down the hall.

OoO

Riddle had not so much as glanced his way since he entered the room.

Hadrian absently ran the feather of his quill through his fingers as he watched the professor – the Dark Lord – explain the differences between a muggle and a magical vampire.

Considering their last meeting, Hadrian had been prepared to endure a lesson full of smug glances and thinly veiled threats.

To be completely disregarded, or rather, treated as any other student was…odd.

Because he was not just a random student, not anymore.

Riddle had always been at least intellectually interested in him, these lessons often spent with the two of them trying to outwit the other under the guise of a class debate.

He would have thought, now that they were uncomfortably aware of who the other truly was, that the man would merely increase the verbal battles.

Then again, perhaps Riddle was so assured of his control over Hadrian that he did not even consider him a threat.

The thought was almost enough to make him snarl.

A piece of parchment fluttered onto his desk, distracting him from his broiling thoughts.

Are you okay?

He glanced to the side to see Raina watching him with concern. His eyes darted to Riddle, debating the chances of him catching them.

Screw him, he thought, already scribbling a reply and pushing it back to her.

Tired. Why?

You seem distracted. Is it the box?

He caught her eye and gave a little nod.

It’s annoying. Don’t worry about me though.

Raina cocked an eyebrow, quill flowing across the paper smoothly.

I’ll do what I want. Let me help, after class.

His lips quirked, fingers grasping the slip of parchment by its corner. He began to write, when he suddenly tensed.

Without thought, a small flame sparked between his fingers, catching the parchment and incinerating it within seconds. Hadrian slowly raised his head to see Riddle’s steely blue eyes pinned on him.

“Mr. Evans, you’re usually more vocal.” He said, gaze moving between him and Raina. “Something on your mind?” Hadrian had no doubt he had seen the small fire.

Naturally, the entire class turned to look at him. He smiled at the professor, contrite and innocent, all the while imagining cursing him through a wall.

“Forgive me, but I think it would be rather obvious what is on my mind,” he tilted his head, and after a blatant pause, “professor.”

As one, all the heads swung back to face Riddle. Free from scrutiny, Hadrian’s smile turned a touch more vicious.

The man’s façade stayed perfectly intact, though Hadrian hoped his comment made something twinge inside him.

What would it take, he wondered, to get Voldemort to shine through the mask in front of a classroom of naïve students?

Was it bad, that a part of him wanted to push until that happen?

“Of course, Mr. Evans. Though I hope in the future you can still bring yourself to focus during class. Being champion, while stressful, is no reason to neglect your studies.”

Neglect his studies? Hadrian refrained from glaring, because of all the things the man could have picked, he went after his work ethic?

He was the best student in his entire academy, and while he might not always pay attention in classes, his work ethic was spectacular. Damn anyone who suggested otherwise.

Hadrian forced himself to back down, no matter how his blood boiled at the slight.

It’s not worth it, he told himself as Riddle returned to his lecture.

Underneath the desk, Hadrian’s hands pressed together to stop the endless desire to fiddle.

He was acting ridiculous. Trying to antagonise Voldemort like that, in such a public setting. It was foolish. He was letting his lingering rage affect him, and that just would not do.

Yes, he was still pissed about how easily Voldemort had manipulated him, and yes, he wanted nothing more than to grab the man’s head and introduce his face to the closest surface; but for the foreseeable future that dream was unobtainable.

He had thought he would be able to handle seeing the man face-to-face after their last encounter, and was acutely disappointed in himself.

A hand landed carefully on top of his. Tanned, with impeccable nails, slim and feminine, with minimum callouses. He recognised them immediately.

He separated his own hands, turning one and curling his fingers over Raina’s gently. She squeezed him once, and he tilted his head to catch her eyes.

She was still worried about him, he could see it in the way she was analysing him. He doubted his little interaction with Riddle had lessened her concern.

Hadrian gave her a smile and shook his head. “After class.” He murmured to her.

Raina scowled at him, warning him with her fierce look that he would not be able to squirm his way out of this conversation.

The rest of the lesson passed without a peep from Hadrian, and with Riddle’s eyes seemingly sliding straight over him.

When the hour came to its end, Hadrian stood and packed away his equipment. He had just slipped his bag over his shoulder when he heard his name said.

The unmistakably angry tone of a woman had him tensing instinctively. He slowly pivoted to see Hermione marching towards him.

Oh shit. He thought, recognising the same glint in her eyes that his mother had whenever he did something wrong.

He had not spoken to Hermione since yesterday, and could not think of what he had done to set her off. From the smugly amused look on Draco’s face, Hadrian knew he would not enjoy the coming experience.

“Hermione, lovely to see you as always.” He injected calmly, pretending not to notice how he completely cut her off before she could do more than open her mouth. “How have you been?”

“No.” She jabbed her finger in his face, and Hadrian carefully swayed away from the offending digit. “You don’t get to charm your way free.”

They were still standing in the middle of the Defence classroom, and all the students leaving took the time to snigger and whisper. Hadrian hoped all of them tripped down the staircases.

“Are you sure, I’m quite skilled at it. Why don’t we give it a go anyway?” He smiled winningly at her.

Quick as a snake, Hermione grabbed his tie and yanked him down, so he was awkwardly bent towards her. “What on earth were you thinking? Getting kicked out of Ancient Runes!”

Hadrian blinked at her, caught between being bewildered and laughing at the ridiculousness of this. “You can hardly blame me for that.”

“I can and I do! You picked a fight with the teacher, and got kicked out.”

“Ah, technically that’s not what happened,” he said, debating whether to try and pry her hand off his tie before it died in her grip. “she set me out for a stupid reason.”

“You were swearing in class.” She continued briskly. “I might not speak fluent French, but I know a few things. What is wrong with you?”

“I was being attacked,” he said mildly, unconcerned that Raina, Claire and Draco were silently laughing. “it was swear or start throwing the blasted thing around the room. I chose the safer option.”

Hermione released him, but only so she could throw her hands in the air. “You’re an idiot.” She proclaimed. “Don’t do it again.” She warned. “Making an enemy of a professor is a stupid thing to do.”

“Of course Hermione,” he said with complete seriousness, which made her eye him suspiciously. “I promise not to make enemies with any more teachers than I already have.”

Hadrian reached out and took her hand, smiling at her softly. “Forgive me?” He asked.

She stared at him hard, before her expression faltered. “Oh, alright. Just promise you won’t do that again. Lessons are still important, I don’t care how far ahead you are.”

“I promise.” He said, kissing her lightly on the back of her palm and grinning boyishly at her.

“And also,” she began again, yanking her hand free from him, “I haven’t had a chance to yell at you yet. I completely forgot yesterday.” She smacked him on the chest, and Hadrian grunted at the surprise assault.

“I told you to be careful with the manticore!” She was scowling up at him.

Hadrian spotted the brief flicker of panic on Draco’s face, before he stared at her with faux confusion. “Did you? But I didn’t see you that day.”

“I -” Hermione’s face did an odd twitch, before her head snapped to face her foster brother. The blond was doing a wonderful job of meeting her gaze.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I wished him luck.” Draco protested.

“From me?”

“I – no.”

Hadrian covered his grin with a small cough, then slid up next to Hermione, taking hold of one of her hands again and successfully snagging her attention.

“I’m apologise for scaring you Hermione.” He said earnestly, having already gone through this process with his friends, his classmates, his Headmistress and a number of others. “But what happened was unavoidable. The manticore had three decades to build up immunity to whatever they injected it with. It was an accident.”

“You could have died.” She said, still stubbornly clinging to her anger.

“I could have,” he acknowledged, “but so could have Draco, and Galiana. And we could die in the next two tasks as well. So instead of getting all worked up, how about we celebrate the fact that all of us survived, yes?” He tapped her chin fondly, and was rewarded with a small smile.

“Why don’t we head down for lunch now?” Claire suggested, appearing on Hermione’s left. Raina stepped up to her right. They weaved their arms through Hermione’s and began tugging her to the door. Though Raina did take the time to shoot him one last reminding look over her shoulder.

Hadrian waved at her, “We’ll be right behind you.” He called.

“That went surprisingly well. I’ve never seen anyone calm her down that fast, except me on occasion.” Draco commented, mercury eyes moving to Hadrian.

The dark haired boy shrugged, “Women are not that difficult to deal with, I don’t get the philosophy that they are impossible to understand. Just listen and you can usually handle them.”

“You don’t find women intimidating?” Draco quirked an eyebrow.

Hadrian looked at him, eyes wide. “Are you insane? Have you met half of my classmates? Have you seen my Headmistress? Or my minister? My mother? I am fully aware of how dangerous the fairer sex is, which is why I learned how to talk to them years ago.”

Draco chuckled softly, and a moment later, Hadrian joined him.

“An enlightening conversation, but shouldn’t you two be headed to lunch by now?”

They spun at the interruption to find Riddle staring at them with boredom. Hadrian straightened, mouth pressing into a tight line.

Draco briefly glanced at him, before taking the lead when it was obvious Hadrian was making no moves to do so. “Of course, sorry professor. Let’s go.” He tugged on Hadrian’s arm, all but dragging the other out of the room.

OoO

That night, Raina sat writing a letter to her father. She had neglected to do so the previous week, too caught up in Hadrian’s recovery to be in the correct mindset.

Speaking of Hadrian, she was still annoyed that the boy had successfully avoided talking to her for the entire day. After Defence, lunch was filled with too much excitement and conversation to have a serious talk. And the rest of their lessons were too busy as well.

It annoyed her, how adept Hadrian was at squirrelling his way out of discussions, how easily he could fade into a crowd even when his name was on every tongue.

And after dinner tonight, the buzz in the air was so thick she had lost him again.

“Are you going to ask him?”

Raina looked up to see Claire had, at some point, claimed the chair across from her. The part-veela’s chin was perched on her palm, and her eyes were positively sparkling.

“What?” She asked, honestly confused.

Claire sighed, shoulder dropping in sheer disappointment. Raina beat back the same flutter of guilt she always felt when Claire gave her that look.

“Hadrian. Are you going to ask him to the ball?”

Her fingers tightened around her quill unconsciously. Her stomach clenched. “Why would I?” She asked coolly.

“Oh honey, you know why.”

“We agreed never to speak of that again.” Raina hissed quietly, leaning across the table and jabbing the feather at her friend threateningly.

“No,” Claire sung teasingly, using a single finger to push the quill away from her. “you demanded we never mention it. I made no such promises, I’m afraid.”

“Anything said under the influence of alcohol should be disregarded.”

Claire laughed, “A drunk mind speaks a sober heart, Raina.”

“Who’s drunk?”

Albert invited himself into their presence, taking a seat next to Claire. He looked between them with excitement.

“No one.” Raina said forcibly.

“What were we talking about then?” He asked, folding his arms and leaning them on the table.

“Noth -”

“Oh, just that Raina is going to be going to the Yule Ball with Hadrian.” Claire said lightly, but there was a wicked smirk on her face.

“Nice,” Albert said, a genuine smile on his face. “did you ask, or did he do it? I don’t know who I’m going to ask yet.”

“I’m not.” Raina snapped quietly. “No one has asked anyone anything.”

“Yet.” Claire piqued up.

“Stop it, you’re a horrible person.” Raina said with another swirl of her quill.

“I don’t know why you’re so against it. You fancy him, just ask.” Her best friend pressed.

“I do not fancy him. It’s a minor infatuation.”

“That you’ve had since you met him.”

Raina straightened with narrowed eyes. “That’s hardly true.”

“Wait,” Albert said, turning to Claire, “really?”

“Oh yes, don’t you remember? Their first meeting was positively explosive.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Raina complained, crossing her arms and leaning back into her chair. “He took it completely out of context.”

Claire’s smile was almost breaking her cheeks. “You said you were “impressed that someone like him could be better than the purebloods,” if my memory serves. Right after you transferred.”

“You didn’t.” Albert gasped, eyes filled with delight. “Oh ho ho, Hadrian would have lost his shit.”

“He did.” Claire whispered gleefully. “He called her a spoilt little princess that didn’t understand the first thing about magic if she thought something as silly as blood determined strength. It was horribly fantastic.”

“How do I not remember this?” Albert asked in disbelief. He shook his head, “I always wondered why you two hated each other. But if you insulted his blood status, it’s no wonder. Hadrian hates bigots.”

“I simply meant that I thought he was incredibly talented to be able to beat the pureblood children because they have more training and education than muggleborns. I was not insulting his blood.”

“Well that would have been easy to explain if you hadn’t snapped at his comment.” Claire said.

“He called me spoilt. I had just lost my mother, I was overly emotional. We both reacted badly.”

“You still liked him though.” Claire reminded her. Raina waved her hand, as if to disperse the remark.

“Everyone liked him.”

“Well, yes, but most got over it.” Albert said with a little grin.

Raina scowled at him. “I can name at least eight people in this room right now that still fancy him.” She declared.

“Are you on the list?” Claire snickered, only to yelp when Raina kicked her in the shin viciously. She sighed, “Why don’t you want to ask him? You two are on such good terms right now. And Hadrian is bisexual. It would be different if he was only attracted to men, or something.”

“And in case you have forgotten, the last “relationship” he was in, ended with his partner throwing him into a death tournament and completely betraying his trust. I doubt he’s exactly ready to commit to someone else right now.”

“You don’t have to date.” Albert said, “Just ask him to the ball. As friends if you’re uncomfortable with the other option. I doubt he would turn you down.”

Raina frowned, “He could.”

Her friend shrugged. “Think of it this way,” Claire said, reaching over to take her quill from her hands before she ruined the feather. “Hadrian is not ready for a relationship right now, like you said. But I think he would like to go with a close friend, someone who he does not have to pretend in front of. He’s too stressed, he needs to relax for at least one night. By going with you, he gets to have fun without worrying about an ulterior motive.”

“But don’t I have an ulterior motive, because of my feelings?” Raina said, ignoring the glint of excitement in Albert’s eyes due to her confirmation.

“No,” Claire said, “because unlike some of the others, you understand that he’s not ready. You won’t push him, or make him feel obligated to do anything remotely romantic. You know he needs a friend more than a fling. And that, my dear, makes all the difference.”

The blonde leaned away with a content grin, and Raina had to admit there was a grain of truth in what her friend was saying.

“I’ll think on it.” She told them.

Albert nodded, “Well, just don’t think too long. Like you said, people would want to go with Hadrian even if he was not champion. Now that he is, well, that’s just a nice bonus of being his date.”

OoO

Lily climbed the stairs to the owlery, avoiding the small cracks on the stairs completely thanks to years of experience. In her pale hand she clutched her letter to Dumbledore.

Sirius had been kind enough to tell her how she could reach the former-Headmaster, who to address the letter to so that it would eventually find its way to the correct hands.

She swallowed the unease she felt at contacting the Order, trying to ignore that if all went well, she could very well be surrounded by old friends and allies very soon. That she would be confronted with the knowledge that she had, in a way, abandoned them all when she fled with Harry.

She wondered what reception she would receive. Surely more than a few of them would be furious with her. The death of James, and her running with Harry would have been a severe blow to their forces. Their numbers had already been so small in the war.

James. Lily. Peter. Frank and Alice. Others, no doubt.

All lost, in some form or another.

And without Harry, they had lost one of their only hopes of ever defeating Voldemort. Lily knew Frank’s child had been another contender for the prophecy, but she had heard nothing of the Longbottom boy surviving the assault on his home, and when she pressed Sirius, he had been unable to provide her with more than a shake of his head and a soft “We don’t know.”

Yet another casualty of Voldemort’s viciousness.

And all Lily could think was it could have been Harry. It could have been her son, taken just shy of his second birthday because of a madman and his lust for power.

But this was the reason she had always pushed Harry so hard. To ensure that no matter what, no matter what challenge confronted him, he would always be able to overcome it. To make sure that she would not lose him, the last good thing in her life.

Lily reached the top and slipped inside the owlery. Taking a moment to breathe in the chilly air and listen to the hooting of the owls. She remembered James following her up here one day, trying to be romantic and ask for a date; only to end up slipping on some ice and landing in a pile of droppings.

God, she missed her idiotic husband and all his ridiculousness.

Shaking the melancholy thoughts away, she approached the wall of owls, searching for the one Sirius had snuck in. She spotted the black and grey creature, and with a sigh she murmured, “Lemon drop.”

The owl ruffled its feathers once, before fluttering down to her and extending a foot. Lily handed over the letter and watched with a heavy chest as the owl moved to the closest window, taking off into the snowy sky to deliver her letter.

She heaved a sigh, and rubbed at her forehead.

This would either end with allies, or destroy any relationship she might still have with the Order.

And Harry…she knew he would understand why she was doing this. He was a smart boy, and Hadrian was cunning and logical. He would understand, and together they would move forward, regardless of the Order’s decisions.

She bundled her cloak around her more tightly, shivering lightly over the wind that still bit into her despite the warming charms.

Her eyes remained trained on the owl, waiting until it was nothing more than a dark speck on the white background before turning to go.

The was a shuffle behind her, and Lily spun to the entrance in surprise. She slipped on a patch of snowy sludge, losing her balance.

An arm snapped out and caught her before she could hit the ground, helping her upright and steadying her.

Lily grasped onto the arms, planting her feet firmly on a clear piece of floor and scowling at the patch that tripped her.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Evans?”

She looked up at the familiar voice and blinked when she saw who had helped her. She stepped away immediately from his half-embrace. “Yes, thank you Professor Riddle. You startled me, was all.”

Professor Riddle smiled kindly at her, and Lily still had difficulty picking his age. He looked much the same from their last meeting, though perhaps a touch more tired. It was understandable, being so early in the morning.

“My apologies for that, I was surprised to see someone else up here at such a time. May I ask what brings you here?”

The lie fell from her mouth without prompt. “I was organising my lodging for the Christmas holidays. I wanted to take my son for a short tour of Britain, after the Yule Ball.”

Riddle hummed in intrigue, “I’m sure he would be delighted at that, he has expressed quite the interest in Britain over the weeks.”

“Oh?” Lily said, the unease from before coming back full force. She remembered vividly how her son had interacting with the man on the night of the gathering, and how Riddle had stared at her when she had whisked Harry away. She could not forget that. “You speak with Hadrian often then?”

Riddle shrugged, “Only occasionally. Your son is quite intelligent, and I am always happy to assist my students.”

“If my son is so smart, why would he need your assistance?” The question was out of her mouth before she could check it, but Lily had no regrets.

Riddle looked amused at her question. “He required some…insight on the first task, which I was more than willing to provide for him.”

Lily’s arms uncrossed, and she stared up at the professor incredulously. “You helped him prepare for the first task?”

Why am I only just finding out about this?

Riddle shrugged elegantly. “I provided a simple clue, it was entirely through his own skill that he came to the right conclusion. I can hardly take credit for Hadrian’s tenacity.”

Again with the name, said so casually, as if he had used it a hundred times already.

“Then I thank you for that, professor.” Disturbing he may be, but Lily could appreciate the help he gave her son.

“Please,” Riddle said jovially. “call me Tom. There is no need for such formality.”

Lily begged to differ, but she could hardly reject his offer, and propriety forced her to do the same. “Then you may call me Amelia, Tom.”

His name felt wrong on her tongue.

“Amelia, thank you.”

She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to make for the exit, but he made no move to dismiss her.

“May I be so forward, Amelia, to ask you to attend dinner with me, one night.”

The request came out of nowhere, and Lily blinked up at him in shock. “Pardon?” She asked.

“Dinner.” He repeated calmly, as if he were not breaking all manner of social rules right now.

Lily glanced away, uncomfortable.

True, this was hardly the first time a man had asked to dine with her. Over the years there had been any number of suitors that had expressed an interest in her, despite her status as an almost-squib.

She had even accepted a few, just to see what it was like. But no matter how charming, or handsome, or wonderful her dates were, she was haunted by her husband’s shadow. She could just not let go of James, and no one she had met had ever come close to being on his level.

She had long accepted that she would never remarry, and that she would likely never find anyone even close her first love.

But something told her Riddle was not interested in her in that way. Other than the fact he was probably a great deal older than her, he just…he did not look at her with lust or even a hint of sexual interest.

No. He was asking her to dine with him for another reason completely, and it disturbed her that she could not tell what it was.

“It does not have to be soon,” he continued when her silence stretched on, “whatever time is better for you.”

Lily brushed some of her inky black hair behind her ear. “I’m afraid I would not be available until the Christmas holidays.”

He smiled at her, “Whenever is best for you.” He repeated, stepping to the side and giving her enough room to move passed him. “I look forward to it.” He said as she slipped outside, despite that fact that Lily had neither accepted or denied his request.

With pursed lips, she headed down the stairs as quickly as was safe.

Chapter Text

His tapped his fingers against his knee repetitively, eyeing the woman across from him shrewdly.

“So, Hadrian,” Skeeter smiled at him as she seated herself. “let’s start with how you’re doing.”

Hadrian glanced down when she crossed her legs, refraining from twitching away as her leg brushed against his. He did not see why she had insisted on them being so closely seated together for this ridiculous interview. If her goal was to intimidate him she had a long way to go. It took far more than a simple touch to unnerve him.

He had managed to avoid the ghastly woman for almost two days before she had pinned him after his last class. It had not been pleasant, stepping out of the Transfiguration classroom to see her grinning at him from the other side of the hall.

He had promised her an interview though, so he had allowed himself to be dragged along to this empty room, ready to proceed with the upcoming torture. He was sure Skeeter was still smarting from how he had dismissed her the other day, and was positively salivating at this chance to get him back.

“Very well, thank you. I am practically back to normal.”

“Practically?” She pounced on the opening.

Hadrian gave a little shrug. “There are some lingering issues, as to be expected from such an injury. The healer assured me that there is nothing to worry about.”

She wiggled back in her chair, the tip of her quill tapping obnoxiously on the pad.

He had allowed her to take notes this time, so long as the quill was not enchanted.

“Such excellent news.” She said, voice filled with an almost painful amount of relief. Whatever problems he had with Skeeter, he had to admit that she was quite impressive in many ways. Like possessing the ability to sound so sincere, yet so sarcastic at the same time. It was a hard trait to master.

“And on the topic of your injury, I must say, when news of your coma reached the public, it caused quite the stir. Do you have anything to say on the matter, about why you suffered such an immense reaction to something that was healed within hours of the accident?”

Hadrian blinked, “My skull was cracked open.” He said slowly, bordering on insulting. “My body went into shock. Forgive me, mademoiselle, but I believe it was a perfectly reasonable reaction.”

“Of course,” she simpered, reaching over to pat at his knee after Hadrian casually slid his hand out of her reach. “it was very traumatic, but let’s come back to that a little more later. Tell me more about the match itself. Everyone is so eager to hear your version of events.”

Why? It’s not like they have not already heard everything about it anyway. He forced a charming smile for her regardless.

“What would you like to know, mademoiselle?” He asked politely.

Skeeter’s mouth opened immediately. “How did you feel, when you first discovered which beast you would be fighting?”

Hadrian’s finger twitched in agitation. “I will admit I felt quite nervous over going against such an incredible creature.” He stressed the word lightly. “It was daunting.”

Skeeter’s head tilted to the side, causing a few of her elaborate, blinding blond curls to fall from their place. She absently replaced them. “And the task? How did you feel during the match itself? Surely you would have been terrified.” He quill tapped damningly on the paper.

Hadrian rearranged himself in his own seat, finding his back beginning to twinge. “I did not exactly have time to feel anything, mademoiselle. Everything happened so fast, I had no time to feel fear or concern. All I could do was react and plan as best I could.”

“Yes,” she agreed instantly, “your use of a doppelgänger was rather interesting. Are you a Dark wizard, Mr. Evans?”

Well, she certainly is blunt.

“No,” he said pleasantly, though he wanted nothing more than to leave. “I am not. Doppelgängers are hardly Dark in nature, mademoiselle. The one I used was actually one of the simplest forms.”

She made a quick note, and when his eyes darted down to catch the movement she tilted the pad away from him just slightly. Her blood red lips peeled back into a knowing smirk, and he had a hard time stopping himself from returning the look.

Annoying she may be, but Skeeter was somehow still charming in her viciousness. Like a newborn dragon.

“I admit myself curious,” she said, eyes zeroing in on him. “you’re a well educated young man, top of your class, one of the best and brightest of your academy.” She leaned closer, “What’s your opinion on the tournament?”

Hadrian rubbed his chin. “I believe it will be very beneficial to the relationships between our countries. I can say I have certainly made quite few friends from the other schools, relationships I hope to keep even after we graduate.”

“Like Draco Malfoy?”

“Among others.”

She hummed thoughtfully. There was a glint in her eyes that had him tensing in preparation. “You’re from France, a country famous for its rather neutral stance on Dark magic. Tell me, what are your thoughts on the topic?”

Hadrian raised an eyebrow, intrigued as to where she was going with this. He had expected the interview to remain solely about the tournament itself.

“I have no solid opinion on the matter,” he said slowly, selecting his words carefully. “there are both branches of magic. It is what one chooses to do with them that concerns me more.”

She made another note on her pad. There was an eagerness to her.

“And the Dark Lord? What’s your opinion on him?”

Hadrian was instantly on alert. His eyes narrowed the barest amount, studying the woman in front of him closely. He did not like this sudden line of questioning.

“He’s the Dark Lord.” He replied evenly. “He’s a great man.” And that was true. Hate him though he did, Hadrian could not deny the incredible force that was Voldemort. The man who, after completely totalling his enemies in a civil war, was able to almost singlehandedly change the very foundations of an entire nation.

It was, to be completely honest, both intimidating and awe-inspiring.

“Yes, yes,” Skeeter said, her eyes never once wavering from him. “but what are you actual opinions on the man?”

“Those are my opinions.” He answered shortly.

She laughed, delighted. “Oh please, we both know there must be more to it than that. I mean, he did do something quite invasive to you.”

And just like that, Hadrian was standing. “I’m done.” He said, already turning to leave.

Her hand, nails painted a sick purple, clamped over his wrist and halted him. “Why are you running, Hadrian? Have I struck a nerve?”

He turned back to face her, glare fixed on his face. “How do you know?” He asked lowly.

Skeeter looked much like a cat watching a mouse scurry about in front of her. “Every reporter has their methods.” She told him smugly.

He scowled at her, unsure how to handle this.

Honestly, he was not particularly bothered that someone had discovered the truth that Voldemort invaded his mind. It was not like Skeeter could actually publish that information, seeing as it would be a direct challenge to the Dark Lord. She would be signing her on death sentence printing anything damaging to the man. And blasting his way into the mind of a student – while not the worst Voldemort had done – would cause some unrest in the populace.

No, he decided.

What pissed him off, was Skeeter trying to use this against him. She was trying to unbalance him by bringing this up, trying to needle her way into his head and intimidate him, to get back at him for so easily threatening her the first time.

She was a smart woman, she would have researched him, she would have watched him. She probably knew by now that he liked being in control.

They both knew she could tell no one about it, but by bringing it up with him, she was reminding him of how vulnerable he truly was. Of how helpless he had been in that moment.

And, unbeknownst to her, she was reminding him of his biggest failure to keep his mother and him safe.

Icy calm settled over him, and he loosened his stance. “You’re a vile woman,” he said bluntly, “but I have to give you credit for that attempt. I did not see that coming.”

He pried her hand off of him, enjoying the minor confusion that brushed over her features at his sudden change in behaviour. “You can’t tell anyone about that, no matter how delicious you find the information. And while your move was commendable, you missed something.”

He stepped into her space, backing her up until she hit her chair and was forced to stumble into her seat with a light gasp.

“You were in the room, that’s the only way you could have known what he did. And while my brains might have been pouring out of the gigantic gash on my head, I was pretty lucid up until that moment.”

He leaned down, bracketing his hands on either side of her. “Which begs the question – how where you there in the first place? I somehow doubt the healers would have just blurted the truth out to any nosy reporter that started questioning them.”

“What are you inferring?” She half-snapped, not fear, but something closer to anxiety coming to her eyes.

“I’m inferring, Mademoiselle Skeeter, that you did something very naughty, something you would likely get into a lot of trouble for if it was ever discovered.” He stepped away from her, “You had best hope I do not find out what that is. Have a good day now.”

Hadrian was tempted to slam the door as he left, but had to admit that allowing it to gently click closed behind him was infinitely more satisfying.

He smoothed his hair back, and made a mental note to start his own research into the blasted woman. There was something suspicious about her, and he was determined to discover what it was before she had a chance to do anything against him.

But for right now, he needed to speak with his mother. He still had a good two hours before students would begin to head towards the Great Hall for dinner.

With a small smile, he started towards her suite.

It was odd, having his mother so readily accessible when he was still at school. At Beauxbatons, he was away from her for nearly all of the term, only being able to see her on the holidays. He had grown used to a certain amount of freedom.

But he did like it, being able to simply drop by her rooms whenever he fancied.

As he walked, he worked on the puzzle box. It was a truly ingenious device, no matter how it infuriated him. He knew he had to be close to solving it. It was only so big after all, and he had moved a fair amount of it.

Hadrian waited patiently for the staircase to move to the next floor, absently answering to a few students who greeted him.

He hopped off on the right floor, putting a stasis charm on the box so his progress would not be ruined, and slipping it back into his bag.

Hadrian made his way to the visitor section and knocked on his mother’s door, leaning against the wall next to it as he waited for her to answer.

Barely a minute later, the door swung out, and he opened his mouth to greet his mother.

Only for the words to die on his tongue.

Arnold Abernathy stared down at him, eyes wide in surprise.

Hadrian straightened, posture growing aggressive. “What are you -” he began, only to cut off again when he saw his mother come up behind the man.

“Hadrian.” She greeted, voice twisting oddly.

“What is he doing here?” He asked abruptly, all thoughts of respect dancing from his mind. When she did not answer immediately, his eyes swung back to the man in question. “What are you doing here?” He demanded.

“Uh.” Abernathy looked distinctly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and looking everywhere but Hadrian. “This isn’t what it looks like.” The man eventually said.

Hadrian glared, arms crossed and back rigid.

His mother sighed, placing a hand on Abernathy’s shoulder with a casualness that had Hadrian swallowing in discomfort. “Enough, Hadrian,” she said, weary amusement in her tone. “Arnold and I were just discussing our plans for the Christmas holiday.”

It took him a second to understand the ‘our’ meant the two of them, not her and Abernathy. He relaxed minutely. “Oh.”

“Yes,” she said, “‘Oh’.” Her head turned to Abernathy, who was eyeing the end of the hall longingly. “Thank you for your advice Arnold, I will definitely take your words into account. Have a good evening.”

“You as well,” he nodded. “Amelia.”

The man hesitated for a moment longer to give a slightly awkward smile to Hadrian, before slipping past him and down the hall.

Hadrian watched him go critically.

“Did you need something?” His mother’s soft inquiry drew his attention right back to her.

“I just wanted to speak with you.” He admitted, stepping inside her warmly lit abode. “But I…apologise for my overreaction. I was just…caught off guard.”

His mother smiled at him, soft and amused. “I noticed.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment. “You know I do not mind if you…want something like that, yes?”

“Oh, darling,” she reached over and patted his cheek, “I know it makes you uncomfortable. It’s alright.”

“No,” he protested, grasping at her hand and holding it carefully. “you know what I mean. It would not bother me if you found someone to spend your time with. I know starting a new relationship would be difficult enough without concerning yourself with my opinions.”

He licked his lip, “If you found someone, you know I would not stand in the way, yes? I want you to be happy.”

She smiled at him, “I am perfectly happy as we are, sweetheart. I have no intention of starting a relationship; certainly not with all we have to worry about right now.” She attempted to pull away, but stopped when he squeezed her hand.

“What’s wrong?”

Hadrian traced his thumb over her knuckles, frowning slightly. “Are you alright?” He asked seriously.

His mother’s smile widened a touch, too much to be anything but fake. “I’m fine.” She told him.

Hadrian’s frown grew more pronounce. “Don’t lie to me.” He said firmly, though there was a touch of a plea in his words.

Her smile faded away, and her eyes grew tired. She sighed softly, and he released her hand. “I don’t know.” She answered, “There is something bothering me, and I have no idea what to do with it.”

“What is it?” He asked, walking them both over to the closest lounge to sit. He gently guided her down, then set to preparing her some tea. “Perhaps I can help?”

He missed the flash of guilt in his mother’s eyes as he bent to pour her a cup.

There was a slight silence between them, before she spoke again, rushed.

“What do you know about Professor Riddle?”

Hadrian hissed as he accidently spilled some boiling tea on his hand. He placed the teapot down and quickly soothed the burn with a wave of his hand. He carefully avoided looking at his mother, knowing she would link the slip with her question.

Why is she asking about Riddle? He thought wildly. She has only met him once, right? Did he approach her again? What the hell is that bastard playing at?

“Professor Riddle?” He echoed, playing for time.

“Yes, you seemed to know him quite well the other night.”

Hadrian hid a wince by turning a little more away from her. He had acted recklessly that time, he could admit. Approaching Riddle and interacting with him so flippantly – even though he had no idea who the man really was back then – in front of his mother had been bound to come up again.

“He is…an excellent teacher. Quite skilled. Very intelligent. I – respect him.”

He finally turned to watch her digest his words. She appeared thoughtful, which was a good sign.

“I agree. He was very well-spoken when I talked to him.”

Hadrian passed her the cup of tea and took his place beside her. “Forgive me, maman, but why are you asking about Professor Riddle? I did not think you would know each other.”

“We don’t,” she confirmed, taking a slow sip. “which is why I find it suspicious that he asked me to eat with him at my earliest -”

They both flinched as one of the glasses on the desk a few metres away shattered.

Hadrian looked at the numerous glinting shards with a scowl, waving his hand to fix the damage. “Pardon.” He muttered, annoyed at his lack of control over his magic.

His mother hummed lightly, glancing between the mess and him curiously.

“He asked you to dine with him?” Hadrian asked, briskly.

She nodded, still watching him with that assessing gleam in her eyes. “Yes. We ran into each other outside, and he requested it.”

I will kill him.

“I see.” Hadrian said hollowly, “And, you said…?”

“I’m considering it.”

“No.”

Lily blinked at the vehement refusal. Hadrian held her gaze sternly. “Maman, you cannot.”

She smiled at him, sardonically. “You just gave me your approval to do this.” She reminded, though there was no heat in her words.

Hadrian shook his head, no hint of humour on his face. “Not him. He is…not good.”

Lily gently cradled the cup of tea in her lap, eyes sharpening. “You said you respected him.” She asked with that probing tenor.

“That does not mean I trust him.” Hadrian said swiftly. “Riddle is dangerous. I don’t care how pretty his words are, you cannot believe anything that man tells you.”

“Then why are you so careless around him?” She suddenly demanded. Her harsh tone had him leaning away in confusion.

“What?”

“That night, you were so clearly under his sway. You completely blocked your surrounding out, you let him lead you around by your nose. It seems to me that you don’t know your own advice.”

Hadrian flinched at the accusation, having a hard time recalling when his mother had ever sounded so judgemental before. True, he had disappointed her in the past, and she had no qualms telling him when and how he made a mistake. But he had never really heard such a tone from her before.

“I understand the danger more than you do.” He snapped before he could check himself.

He rarely had the gall to argue with his mother, was hardly ever that disrespectful to her. But this was different. He was trying to protect her from falling right into Voldemort’s trap. He knew he was right.

He just wished he could shake her and tell her why.

Lily straightened at his rebuttal. She did not looked the least bit amused. “Is he a Death Eater?” She asked shortly.

“I – no.” Hadrian said, already losing wind. His mother stared him down.

“Is he connected to Voldemort?”

Hadrian squinted at her, “In a way.”

She nodded, head turning away from him. Hadrian waited quietly.

“I know he’s dangerous, Hadrian. I would hardly be stupid enough to trust the man.” He looked down at the subtle slight, feeling worse than he had when he was with Skeeter. “But dining with him could gain some benefits. He wants something from me, and I want to know what.”

“So you will just walk right into whatever he has planned for you?” He asked bitterly.

Lily faced him again, stern-faced. “Of course not. We will plan, and come up with a strategy. I told him I would not be available until after the Yule Ball, so we have time.”

Hadrian nodded slowly, settling next to her silently. He listened to her mumble to herself, stewing in his own anger for a long time.

He startled when one of her hands rested over his clamped ones. “I need you to help me with this, Hadrian. We need to do this.”

“I know.” He said before she had even finished speaking. The look she gave him was quelling.

“We can’t trust anyone but ourselves right now. Yes?”

He nodded automatically. “I know. No one but us.” He repeated.

Lily smiled at him, smaller and more reserved this time. Her hand raised to pat his cheek one more time.

“Good.”

OoO

Hadrian sat quietly at a small table in the Hogwarts library, books open but unread next to him. His fingers moved smoothly over the box surface, doing and redoing the combinations again and again.

There was a group of students a few metres away, chattering softly. He had been studiously ignoring them since he had entered, his mind focussed on the small item in his hands.

His argument with his mother was still fresh in his mind, and with it, his roiling annoyance.

He hated how quick she was to shut his advice out, even though he had been at Hogwarts for far longer, and spent more time around and with Riddle than she had.

She just never listened and he hated it.

“Excuse me?”

He paused when the voice pierced his bubble.

Hadrian glanced up to see a girl standing next to him. She was smiling sunnily, and he caught sight of the yellow and black tie secured around her neck. Her outer robe was gone, leaving her in just a white shirt and the standard skirt most girls wore.

“Yes?” He knew where this was going and while she seemed like a nice girl, this was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

“You’re Hadrian, right? Hadrian Evans?”

He nodded, resisting the urge to just cut to the chase. Unfortunately, he knew any rumours of rudeness would somehow trickle back to his Headmistress, and then he would really be in trouble.

“My name’s Jessica Laurence. Anyway, I know this seems like it’s completely out of nowhere, but I wanted to know if you wanted to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

And Hadrian truly did feel bad for her in this instance. He had already done this routine with a number of people, and always felt a little bad with rejecting them. But he was not in the mood for a whirlwind romance, and the Yule Ball was the furthest thing from his thoughts right now.

He slapped a kind smile on his face anyway, going the gentle way. “I am flattered, mademoiselle,” he began, “but I must decline.” Her face fell a little at his rejection. Quick to soothe, he tilted his head back in the direction of her table. “However, I believe the gentleman in Ravenclaw over there would be rather agreeable if you asked him.”

She looked surprised, glancing back over her shoulder to her table of friends. “Who, John?”

“If John is the one who is currently glaring daggers at me, then yes. Most boys are terrible at expressing their interest in someone, and quick to get jealous. I’ve seen it many times.” He gave her a quick wink, which had her smiling at him a little.

“Oh, okay then.” She dithered in her spot as he watched her patiently. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in going with any of my friends either, huh?”

He dipped his head, not even glancing to where she was gesturing. “I’m sorry.” He said genuinely.

Jessica shrugged, “Hey, it happens. At least you weren’t a jerk about it.” She waved a little as she walked back over to her table, dropping into hushed whispers with her friends the moment she returned to their fold.

Hadrian turned back to his box, head shaking.

It was getting ridiculous, the amount of invitations he was receiving. He understood the appeal of the ball, but it was almost a month away, and he had much more important things to deal with than bothering to find a date.

It was not worth the hassle. He briefly toyed with the idea of just saying yes to the next person that asked, but then there was the problem of them possibly expecting more afterwards.

Would it be acceptable to just not take a date?

He shut that wistful thought down immediately. He had already been told by Madame Maxime that as a champion, he was required to have a date. Some stupid little tradition of the whole tournament that had the champions dance first.

Whoever invented the Triwizard Tournament was a sadistic individual and Hadrian hoped they were burning in hell.

The tasks were difficult enough without adding the trouble of a ball.

“If you think any harder, you might hurt yourself.”

Hadrian’s lips twitched, and he pushed out a chair with his foot. “Always lovely to see you, Raina. Join me?”

“No, I won’t be here long.”

Hadrian looked at her in curiosity.

Raina stood where Jessica had mere moments earlier, her hands resting comfortably on her hips and her gaze focussed keenly on him.

He raised an eyebrow.

“We are going to the Yule Ball together.” She announced with no prelude.

Well, this solves that problem.

Hadrian shrugged. “Okay.” He agreed, already going back to his box. His easy answer clearly took her by surprise, for she did not immediately stalk off. “What?” He asked when she lingered.

“I thought you might put up more of a fight.”

He huffed a chuckle, mindful of the patrolling librarian. “I have endured invitation after invitation from complete strangers ever since this ball was announced. At least I know you.”

“Well, thanks.” She said sarcastically. “Nice to know what my appeal is as a date.”

He laughed, slightly louder this time. “You are a close friend Raina, and I enjoy your company. You are a good conversationalist, and you are an excellent dancer. At least with you I know what I am dealing with.”

Which was as close to I am comfortable around you as he was going to get.

Luckily, Raina had always been absurdly attuned to him. She nodded, pleased at the odd compliment he had given her.

“Good. I’ll see you in class then.”

He nodded at her, watching quietly as she left him alone. Amidst the browns and dull reds of the books, the fluttering blue of her dress was a nice addition.

Hadrian shook his head, smiling as she turned the corner and vanished from his sight. No doubt going to terrorise another person with her presence.

Raina had always been an odd one, but compared to all the other options, he still viewed her as one of the best.

Truthfully, he would have approached her later on if she had not come to him. Going with someone he liked and knew was just one less thing he had to worry about.

He was no stranger to pretending to like the people around him, but the thought that he would hardly have to act at all for the night of the ball was soothing.

He sighed lightly, running his finger absently alone a groove and shifting a section.

Hadrian was already done with the year, and he still had almost a month until the next task. He was looking forward to the Yule break at least, because a relaxing tour around Britain sounded exactly like what he needed right now.

There was a faint click, and Hadrian looked down in surprise.

The box had a crack in it, the wooden pieces separating only slightly.

He carefully peeled the two parts away from each other, a pleased grin appearing on his face as the first layer of the box gave way to reveal a smaller one underneath.

“Finally.” He breathed in barely contained excitement.

It had only been a few days, but now that he was at the same level as the other champions, he felt more at ease.

“Congratulations.”

Hadrian jerked at the sudden, and completely unwelcome interruption. His knee slammed into the table and he cursed at the burst of pain even as he stood and spun to face the man behind him, the chair screeching on the floor from his speed.

Why the hell is everyone bothering me today? He thought angrily. I came to the library to get away from them.

Riddle barely blinked at his quick movements, staying patiently where he was leaning against a bookshelf less than two metres away.

Hadrian darted a look around them, noticing with annoyance that the other students had cleared away some point after Raina had left him.

This corner of the library was deserted, except, of course, for the two of them.

“What do you want?” He asked, boldly turning his back and beginning to pack his bag. He was hardly an idiot. If Riddle was approaching him when he was alone then he likely wished to discuss something sensitive.

The man tsked lightly, and though Hadrian could not hear him do so, he was intrinsically aware that Riddle was drawing near him. “It appears you’ve regrown your spine. I was worried when you rolled over so easily our last, proper meeting.”

And that he could not ignore.

Hadrian turned on his heel, eyes immediately raising to find Riddle’s. The man was well within his personal space, one more step and he would be all but pinning Hadrian to the table. “Funny words coming from a man who was only willing to approach me when I was wounded and bedridden.”

“You were hardly bedridden,” the man snorted, as if the mere thought of finding Hadrian intimidating was impossible. “but I could not have you prancing around Hogwarts with my identity when I did not have something over you.”

“I do not prance.” He hissed before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat in minor mortification that he had even addressed that comment in the first place. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you want, haven’t you already made our positions obvious?”

“This is a public area,” Riddle pointed out blandly, “what makes you think I’m here for you?”

It was Hadrian’s turn to snort, “Please. You expect me to believe you just conveniently appeared right as I solved the first layer?”

There was a pause.

“I may have been watching you for a few minutes.” Riddle admitted without an ounce of shame. His candidness had Hadrian hesitating, a little uncomfortable and confused at this odd conversation.

“Right.” He said after a moment, shifting his weight. “Is this a thing we do now?” He asked, “Go back to pretending the last two weeks never happened? That we’re not on complete opposite sides of a war?”

“Of course not,” Riddle said in such a manner that Hadrian thought he might roll his eyes were he anyone else. “but there’s no reason for our professional relationship to affect how we interact.”

“Our ‘professional relationship’.” Hadrian echoed dully, eyebrows rising only to crash down into a heavy sneer. “‘Professional relationship’? You are blackmailing me. There’s nothing ‘professional’ about it.”

Riddle smiled at him, “I can only blackmail you because you let me find out.”

“Va te faire enculer!” Hadrian shouldered his way past Riddle, hands almost trembling with rage.

Let him? Let him? This bastard breaks into my mind when I’m on the brink of dying – and he has the nerve to say that to my face?

Hadrian froze when another thought occurred to him. He spun back to face Riddle, who looked entirely too pleased with himself for having caused such a reaction.

“Why are you asking to dine with my mother? What are you planning?” He demanded, marching his way back over. Riddle watched him approach calmly.

“Does it bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. She’s my mother. I don’t want her in the same country as you, let alone the same room.”

“Not that,” Riddle said dismissively. He leaned closer to him. “does it bother you that she refuses to listen to you?”

Hadrian stopped, staring up at Riddle in confusion. The man took his silence as permission to continue.

“You can’t tell her who I am, not with my threat, but you tried to warn her. Does it bother you how quick she was to brush you off?”

“I replaced the runes.” Hadrian said suddenly, defensively. Too late he realised that he was essentially confirming what Riddle had said.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“This conversation is over.” Hadrian said, turning to leave again.

“I can see it you know,” the man’s voice followed his every step. “how suffocated you feel. You’d like nothing more than to play this your own way, and yet, time and again, you bend to her whims. Like a loyal, dotting son. It would be sweet if not for how you resemble a dog bowing before its master.”

“Better a faithful dog than a mindless servant. Go near my mother again and I’ll show you just how sharp my bite can be, damn the consequences.” He warned over his shoulder as he left.

As he turned the corner, a bookshelf now blocking his view of Riddle, he felt the privacy ward dissipate.

At least that answered the question as to why no one had come running at the ruckus they had made.

He had been sure that the ruthless librarian would have come running at them within seconds. But Riddle was a Lord of magic. If he wanted to talk to Hadrian privately, even in such an open and well-trafficked area, then he would find a way.

The knowledge of how outclassed he was did nothing but incite him more. He hated how easily he let Riddle get to him. The only consolation was that it was Riddle seeking him out, not the other way around.

He might be the underdog here, but at least he was not actively going to the enemy for pointless little chats.

He had a new goal though, one that required his immediate attention.

Riddle should not have been able to listen in through his bracelet, with Hadrian having replaced the runes the night he had been released from the hospital. Which meant he had another means with which to do it.

And if there was no way Hadrian was the source, that only left his mother as an option.

He almost sighed, knowing he could hardly go directly up to her and demand to search through every inch of her belongings until they discovered whatever device or spell Riddle was using. She would want to know both how and why he knew these things, which would lead to talking about Riddle and Voldemort and Hadrian could not let her know that true connection just yet.

The Gods only knew what she would do if she discovered they were one and the same.

So he would have to be discrete. Luckily, he could quite easily sneak into her rooms when she was not there, to do his search. All he had to do was wait for her to leave.

When he got outside he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and just taking a moment to breath.

First Skeeter and her attempts to intimidate him. Then his mother refusing to take his advice into account. And now Riddle. Well, Riddle was always there, lurking on the edges of his mind when he was not the main feature, a constant presence. But the point remained.

He still had the whole tournament to worry about as well. Solving the first layer was only the beginning; he now had to endure the entire process again with the next layer. And on top of that he had the Yule Ball to prepare for.

All the while he had to plan for what to do when the Order eventually confronted him.

Hadrian rubbed a hand over his face, allowing himself one moment of complete and utter exhaustion.

He felt like he was being pulled in so many different directions at once. He had known fighting Voldemort would be an almost impossible challenge, he had just never suspected he would be this close to tearing at the seams.

But at the same time…

At the same time he had never felt more excited. It was like for the first time in his life, he was actually alive.

He was so close to breaking, but the knowledge of it did nothing but spike his blood and make his heart pound.

Hadrian dropped his hand and sighed deeply, taking his frustration and exhilaration and neatly locking them away. He could not afford to be overwhelmed right now.

He pushed off the wall and started back down the hall, mind buzzing.

OoO

Remus stood as still as a statue as he watched the hooded figure of Rabastan Lestrange pass through the outermost ward surrounding Malfoy Manor.

He had been stalking the Death Eater for around three days at this point, following his movements as closely as he dared. It was a dangerous mission, following such a high-ranking member of Voldemort’s forces, but Remus was uniquely equipped for surveillance.

His eyes glinted a faint amber as he crept back into the safety of the woods. Even with the full moon having already happened, the constant pull of its influence never truly left him.

These past years had been hard, in more ways then one. Every day filled with uncertainty and paranoia as they tried to rally their forces and fight back against the Dark Lord.

It was getting more and more dangerous for him to be around the Order as well. True, the abilities his wolf side gave to him were valued and most certainly useful. But the transformations themselves were excruciating and added one more weight to their minds.

Every hideout, every time they moved their base, they had to ensure there was a space to keep him during that time.

Remus was aware of the burden he placed on them, and it frustrated him how much his affliction affected his friends and allies.

Sirius had understood, as best any non-werewolf could. He had eased the pain with his blasé attitude towards the entire affair.

James too, had strived to support him without a hint of fear. And Lily, always so kind and understanding.

He remembered how terrified he had been of her reaction, even with James and Sirius and him whispering encouragements in his ears.

And when the words – the confession – had stuttered through his lips, she had looked at him like he had said something amusing.

“Rem, honestly, I’ve known for years.”

“…you have?”

“You four aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

She had always been special to him, in a different way to the Marauders. Her smile had been able to sooth his greatest fears, and a kind word from her could erase a night of tremors. He had loved Lily, for her brilliance and ferocity, and his heart had sung when she and James had finally come together as he had been hoping they would for years.

And when Harry had been born, and Lily had so casually placed the newborn in his arms like he was not keeping a monster caged within his flesh, Remus knew he would do everything to protect them.

But he had lost James, and Lily and Harry had vanished, and he had betrayed them all. Only Sirius had remained, but he was gone now too, to watch over Harry who had finally returned to them.

The only one – well, not the only one, but he was trying so hard to resist the second option – Remus could turn to now was Dumbledore, but the man was so busy and tired. Harry’s return had rejuvenated them all, but the years had already taken their toll.

He silently apparated to their current headquarters, waiting for the wards to recognise him before he approached the door.

Before he could even open it, it was flung open.

“Wotcher, Remus!”

He blinked at the keen greeting, but nevertheless smiled at the brightly coloured woman in front of him.

“Dora,” he greeted, a tad awkwardly, their last conversation still fresh in his mind. “hello.”

She grinned at him, all youthful enthusiasm. As he watched, her hair bled into a rather vicious shade of bubblegum pink. “How…how have you been?” He asked as he entered.

Dora shrugged, snapping the door closed loudly with a small shove. Remus winced as it slammed shut. She looked at him in apology, the tips of her hair falling flat to her head.

No matter how often he was treated to the sight of her abilities, it never failed to intrigue him. It was such a rare trait, and the scholar in Remus always perked up whenever the girl unknowingly used it.

Which was, of course, always.

He smiled again, giving her a short pat on her shoulder, dropping his hand almost immediately afterwards. “It’s alright.” He told her.

Whether by his words or his action, she brightened instantly, and her cheeks grew rosy. “How was the stake-out?” She asked as they went further down the hall. The house was remarkably quiet, though Remus could hear the faint sound of several voices murmuring.

“Nothing too exciting,” he said with a sigh, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for really, though I imagine if they knew about Harry, there would be something.”

She nodded, face oddly serious for such a happy person. Remus felt his heart twinge, that someone as young as Dora was involved in such a horrible fight.

“Is Dumbledore in?” He asked when the silence between them got too tense.

Dora hummed, “He’s in, but they’re still going over what they should say in reply to the letter.”

“Lily’s?” He asked, curiously.

“I guess. I know Dumbledore wants to meet with her and Harry as soon as possible, but they want to do it right. I think they’re afraid of scaring her off or something.”

Remus gazed down the hallway to the door at the end. There was a sliver of light spilling from the bottom, and now that he was focussing, he could pinpoint Dumbledore’s strong voice amongst the mumbles.

He took a breath, and was immediately assaulted with a painfully familiar scent.

He looked down to see Dora had taken his moment of inattention to step into his space. She was smiling up at him, dimples showing and eyes turning a lovely shade of blue.

“So, Moony,” he closed his eyes in resignation, cursing the day Sirius had essentially adopted her after her parents had fallen to Voldemort. The last thing this woman had needed was Sirius’ influence. “we never did finish our discussion the other day.”

“Dora,” he said firmly, “we really did. You know my answer.”

Her grin widened impishly, and Remus desperately reminded himself of the number thirteen. Thirteen years. “Oh I remember, I just think you’re forgetting something.”

She reached out, entirely unafraid of the amber of his eyes. Her palm pressed against his cheek, thumb tracing the scars and worn lines. Her other hand slipped into his, entwining their fingers as she moved even closer.

Unable to resist the sheer peace her presence gave him, Remus’ eyes fluttered shut. Her unique scent filling his lungs.

“I want you.” She breathed softly, lovingly – bold and daring as she was with everything.

And God did Remus burn for this woman.

He allowed himself a moment of weakness, to lean into her touch and let her wash over him.

“And you want me.”

His nose trailed along her wrist, and he could hear the rush of her blood through the thin skin. The sudden noise reminded him sharply of why he was so against this in the first place.

Remus gently, but firmly, removed her hands from him. “We’re in the middle of a war.” He told her, as he always did. Ever since this whole thing had begun. Since he had begun to notice how the scrubby teenager had developed into a wilful young woman, or how her eyes strayed to him more and more these days, the appreciative light in them growing with her.

“All the more reason.” She shot back, well versed in this script by now. “Why deny ourselves a little bit of happiness?”

Remus stared down at her, going for stern but likely falling short. He always felt so powerless when he looked at her.

She was much like the moon, in that way. So capable of controlling him, so encompassing and beautiful. Eternal and strong. Distant and untouchable.

He released her hands, ignoring how cold he felt without her warmth seeping into him.

“I need to speak with Dumbledore.” He muttered as he slipped away, shoulders curling under the weight of his cowardice.

He heard her sigh, and the creak of her steps as she went up the stairs. He paused just before the office door, ears tuned into her movements.

“I’ll wear you down eventually.” He heard her murmur, and a small, bitter smile appeared on his worn face.

She already had, but he could not let her know that just yet.

Chapter Text

Hadrian watched quietly through the window as the snowfall continued.

His elbow was beginning to ache from where it was perched on the sill, the added weight from his chin in his palm driving the joint into the corner; but he was oddly calm right now, and had little desire to emerge from his bubble.

It had felt like a lifetime since he had had a chance to just sit and relax.

From the moment he had found out about the tournament, he had been stressed or frantically thinking about something.

How to avoid being champion. How to beat the tasks. How to avoid notice from Voldemort. How to outmanoeuvre Riddle. How to keep his mother safe from the axe precariously swinging above her fragile neck.

It was one thing after another, with barely a chance to breathe.

And yet, right now, despite everything he still had to deal with – Skeeter, Riddle, the Order, his mother – he was nothing but content to watch the snow.

Next to him, Albert sat. The other boy was humming soothingly, reading through several letters as they waited for the sun to set.

Classes had finished almost an hour ago, and most of their schoolmates had joined them in returning to the warmth of the carriage.

Hadrian watched as a group of students – Hogwarts, from their black robes - started throwing snowballs at each other. He smiled lightly at their innocent faces.

He loved winter. He loved the cold. He loved the absolute blankness of the snow, wiping over everything.

He sighed longingly.

At Beauxbatons, it rarely snowed.

Despite being located in the Pyrenees, the wards encompassing the mountain-carved castle kept the academy and its surroundings pleasantly warm. They could look out and see the snowfall, but none of it crossed the barrier.

This was nice.

Hogwarts was stunning normally, blinding people with its unique brilliance. The way the sun glossed over the thousand glass windows and turned the aged stone a beautiful golden shade. It never failed to captivate his eyes and his breath.

But there was something positively magical about Hogwarts covered in snow.

He sighed again, wistfully.

Hadrian loved Beauxbatons. He loved it fiercely, and viewed it as more his home than their house could ever be. But Hogwarts was special to him too, and represented something he wanted yet could never have.

I could have gone here. He thought privately. This could have been mine.

There was the familiar sting of bitterness he always had at the thought of going to Hogwarts. Though it was far fainter than ever before.

He wondered if he was just beginning to not care anymore.

Albert stopped humming.

Hadrian blinked, and drew his eyes away from the gorgeous vision just outside to glance at his friend.

Albert stared at the letter in his hand, face unusually serious. It was unopen, and from his angle, Hadrian could not catch sight of the writing on the front.

He frowned, a little curious. “Something wrong?” He asked softly.

Albert looked at him, face swiftly changing into something vaguely troubled, before a slightly grim smile clawed at his lips. “A letter from my aunt.” Was all he said.

Hadrian winced, hissing from between his teeth. “What does she want this time?” He asked, looking down at the letter in his friend’s hand as if it would catch on fire.

Albert was always receiving random letters from his estranged aunt. Hadrian had never met the horrid woman, but Albert’s muttered stories of her outdated beliefs and controlling attitude were more than enough to make him glad he had never done so.

His friend shrugged, tucking the unopened letter into his blazer’s inner pocket. “I don’t particularly care to find out. It is either a letter informing me of the latest progression in creature rights in the States, and her laments on how far MACUSA has fallen since the war; or something about you.”

“Me?” Hadrian tilted his head in time to catch the bitter glint in his friend’s eyes.

“She detests muggles. Thinks the complete worst of them, and only holds a marginal interest towards muggleborns. If they completely accept Wizarding traditions and forsake their other heritage she has no problem with them. If they do not…well,” He spread his hands. “they are poisoning society and all that rot.”

Hadrian shook his head, biting back a chuckle. “I must make her blood boil then.”

“Oh, you do,” Albert agreed. “she has nothing but praise for your accomplishments in the tournament so far, but your first interview with that British reporter must have pissed her off, with how you spoke so fondly of your muggle heritage.”

Hadrian hid his grin in the palm of his hand.

“Last letter she told me to stay close to you due to your success, but to see if I could, hmm, gently show you the error of your views.”

Hadrian’s shoulders were shaking, and a hidden smile lurked at the edges of Albert’s mouth.

“And if I could not, I must distance myself immediately, lest I get infected.”

“Lovely.” Hadrian quipped drily. “Better stay back, Al. I might poison you with my dirty blood. That is how philosophies are spread, after all. We can’t be too careful.”

Albert threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, no. Whatever will I do if you get a papercut? Promise to bleed in the opposite direction, for my sake?”

“Only for you.” Hadrian assured him, lips curling into a genuine grin.

While bigots did honestly infuriate him, he often could not resist teasing them for their completely outdated and illogical stances on blood. Witches and wizards such as Albert’s aunt were ridiculous, and Hadrian always felt exhausted after dealing with them.

He did get a dangerous amount of glee whenever his mere existence disproved their ideals though.

His green eyes drifting upwards over Albert’s head when he saw a figure moving from the lounge room and down the hallway to the bedrooms.

Perfect.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Hadrian told Albert, already standing up.

The dark skinned boy waved, watching him go, fingers absently tracing the outline of the letter in his pocket.

Hadrian slipped down the hallway after his target, clearing his mind of the voice – which sounded damningly like his mother – telling him that this was a bad idea.

He came to a stop in front of a familiar door and rapped quietly on the wood. He straightened his back as it opened.

Jacob blinked down at him from the gap, equal parts surprised and anxious. “Hadrian – what..?”

“Can we talk?” He asked, trying to ignore the sudden clenching of his stomach. It had been so long since he had even really looked at Jacob, let alone spoken to him.

It had only been around two months since he had cut ties with the other boy, but it felt like so much longer.

So much had happened in that time, Hadrian had barely had time to even really acknowledge how he felt about Jacob. The confrontation with Claire, Raina and Albert had made it clear that he could no longer ignore the problem, however.

“I-” Jacob closed his mouth, the skin around his lips tightening. “I shouldn’t.” He said, anger skimming along his words like electricity.

Hadrian felt his shoulders tense at the tone, his own rage – half-forgotten, yet quick in its resurgence – bubbled at the back of his throat. He dared Jacob to say anything with a glare; because Jacob might be hurt over their fight, but they both knew that Hadrian was the victim in this.

The anger drained out of Jacob’s eyes, and he wordlessly opened the door more, backing up to let Hadrian enter.

Once he was over the threshold, Jacob gently clicked the door closed and marched back towards his bed.

Inevitably, Hadrian’s eyes were drawn to the other side of the room. It looked incredibly bare without someone else staying here. He glanced away, because thinking such things only reminded him of the last time he had been in this room, and that only made him angrier.

He slipped his hands in his pockets and waited as Jacob turned to face him, arms across his chest.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jacob asked, stiffly.

Hadrian took a breath, cutting to the chase and blocking out his irritating emotions.

“I need a favour.”

The shock that rippled over Jacob’s face would have been amusing had the divide between them not been so gapping.

“…A favour?”

“Yes.” He waited patiently.

Just as swiftly as it had disappeared, the anger crashed back over Jacob’s features. “Seriously?” The other bit out.

“Over a month I have been avoiding you. I have respected your wishes. I have kept my distance, even as you have dangled your new best friend in my face, and I’ve not said a thing. And now you come and ask for a favour?”

Hadrian scowled, grappling with his own temper. “Firstly, we both know you have spoken about what happened. Raina, Claire and Albert confronted me about it. And secondly, yes, I’m asking for a favour because you owe me.”

He stalked closer and jabbed a finger at the other.

“Snarl all you want over my audacity in asking this, but it does not and will not change the fact that it was your fault I am in this mess.” He gave Jacob a small shove, hardly any force behind the move, just enough to sway the other backwards. “You put me in this tournament, any injuries I get are on your head. So when I come asking for a favour, you don’t have any fucking right to refuse me.”

Jacob looked away, jaw clenched and eyes frosty.

Hadrian watched the other boy intently, searching for any glint of fight.

“What do you need?” Jacob asked stiffly, body held taunt and head still turned away.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes, but took a small step back to give the other more space. He knew Jacob had backed down, but he still had to tread carefully lest he caused the other to lash out again.

“Information.” He said, tone as steely as Jacob’s. He ignored the dull throb in his chest at how far they had drifted that this was the only way they could talk anymore.

So many years of laughter and support and whispered late-night conversations, and this was the result.

He had always appreciated Jacob’s worth, and was aware of how useful the other was. Both his name and his own skillset were quite influential.

And yes, those facts were primarily the reason Hadrian had even approached the other in the first place. His mother had certainly approved of him making connections with the heir of the Korin family.

But he had been young, and Jacob was more charming than he had anticipated, and somewhere along the way they had become friends.

“About what?”

He blinked the thoughts away. “Rita Skeeter.”

A flicker of curiosity leaked through the harshness of Jacob’s eyes. “The reporter? From the Daily Prophet? What would I possibly know about her?”

“It’s more what you can find out, rather than what you already know.”

Jacob’s body lost some of its tension. “You intend to blackmail her?”

Hadrian did not know if he should be more insulted that that was the first thought Jacob had, or by the lack of surprise in the other’s voice. Was him asking for something illegal really that normal? He had never really done for anything like this before.

Of course, he had used Jacob’s webs for information on people. Certain Lords and Ladies of France’s high society that he needed to have dirt on in the event they ever posed a problem for him.

But still.

“I need to keep a handle on her.” Was all he gave in response.

“So blackmail?” Jacob asked, almost snidely.

“Look, can you do it or not?” He snapped, patience frayed. His meeting with Skeeter had rattled him, and he knew that leaving the tenacious woman alone for any period of time was asking pain and destruction. He needed something to keep her under his thumb before she ruined everything.

Jacob’s shoulders twitched, and his expression flattened. “Give me a couple days. I should have something by then.”

Hadrian nodded, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, vainly trying to ward off his impending headache.

“What did she do to warrant this?”

He peeked up at the question, frowning lightly. “What?”

Jacob tilted his head forward, “Skeeter. She must have done something to have you this worked up.” There was a flash of what might have been guilt, but just as easily could have been pain, over Jacob’s face. “Or to have you come to me.”

Hadrian sighed again, biting his lip as he contemplated what he should say.

“She…is a wildcard. And recent events have told me it would be better to have some more control over what she published about me.”

The breath Jacob released was piercing in the quiet. When Hadrian looked to him, the expression Jacob was aiming at him was somehow both fond and annoyed.

“I miss this.” The other admitted softly, and the whimsical note of his voice caught Hadrian off-guard. “I miss listening to your scheming and watching you hatch plans and theories.” Jacob looked down. “I know I made a mistake, and I know that what I did to you was unforgiveable. I honestly don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Jacob scoffed, the derision aimed nowhere but himself. “Something stupid, no doubt. But whatever it was, it wasn’t worth losing your trust.” Vulnerability shone through Jacob’s eyes. “I am not asking for forgiveness, Hadrian. I just want you to know how much I regret what I did, and how, when you got injured…” Jacob broke off, swallowing.

“All I could think when it hit you, was this is all your fault you stupid boy, you did this to him, he’s dead because of you, and I wanted nothing more than to take back everything. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but…” He made a helpless gesture with his hands.

Hadrian, despite the anger stilling burning in his chest, felt the smallest edge of affection creep into him. He would not forgive Jacob – could not, for now – but they had been friends for a long time, and a part of him would always hold some measure of feelings for him.

“I cannot accept your apology,” he said plainly, and Jacob nodded lowly. “not yet, at least.”

Horrible hope blossomed in Jacob, and Hadrian held up his hand to forestall it. “Possibly not ever.” He clarified.

“I do not know what will happen, Jacob. You hurt me. A lot. And I am not one to forget things like that. But I said it to the others, and I will say it to you. I don’t want my opinions to influence how our friends and classmates treat you.”

He had not been blind to the way Jacob had seemingly slipped into obscurity amongst their classmates. While many of them had not been privy to the argument between the two of them, the fact that something serious had occurred had affected them.

One would have to be an idiot to not see that Hadrian had been furious with Jacob, and like the children they were – sons and daughters of politicians they may be, they were all still young – their classmates had begun to subtly shift their attitude towards Jacob.

Hadrian was the champion of their school, and on good terms with nearly every student. Those two factors had secured him their unwanted support almost immediately. No matter how loved Jacob was, he had still suffered from the quiet judgement of their peers.

That had never been Hadrian’s intention – even if some dark part of him had rumbled in satisfaction at seeing the other boy brought low. So he would try to rectify the situation.

“We won’t be friends, but I can play nice. You are welcome to have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Jacob blinked in bewilderment, and Hadrian gave him a slight, grim smile. “Besides, it’s not me you have to bother with. The others are quite pissed at you, and will not make anything easy for you.”

Jacob grimaced, understanding exactly what lay ahead of him. Raina, especially, would been vicious with him.

The thought of the dark haired girl brought something else to mind, and suddenly Hadrian was hit with a wonderful idea.

“There is one thing you could do.” He began, unable to keep his voice from going sly. “Claire.”

Jacob cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “What about her?”

Hadrian rolled his eyes, moving to leave the room. “Ask her to the ball you twit.”

He might have mixed feelings about Jacob, but he was willing to put his own misgivings aside for the benefits.

One of those benefits being the blinding grin on Claire’s face as she hugged him the next morning and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

The second, would be the slip of paper Jacob handed him three days after, containing a very interesting fact about the lovely Rita Skeeter.

OoO

Hadrian sat in his mother’s lounge room, staring up at the ceiling with a small, pleased grin on his face.

In his pocket, the folded piece of parchment rested.

Just the thought of it had his chest warming, because he had her.

There was no way Skeeter could threaten him, not when all it would take is an anonymous tip that there was a non-registered Animagus skittering around Hogwarts, and she would be gone.

Hadrian was well-versed in the laws about Animagi, having studied it intently for himself. In France, the offence for not registering was a hefty fine and a nice vacation with the aurors.

In Britain, well. Before Voldemort’s reign, it was a short trip to Azkaban. Now, the stay in Azkaban had been lengthened to an almost ridiculous period.

Though Hadrian could understand the dangers of being unregistered. There was no telling what someone with those skills could do, depending on their animal transformation.

He did not care particularly what would happen. All he needed to know was that Skeeter was playing with fire, and if she wished to keep her perfectly manicured talons free of burns, she would do what he said.

He hummed in contentment.

“Sweetheart?”

He opened his eyes and turned to look at his mother. She was dressed nicely, and looked lovely. He told her so, and she gave him an indulging smile.

“Thank you, but what are you doing here?”

Hadrian shrugged, utterly relaxed. “I am getting stressed being surrounded by all the preparation for the ball, measuring for suits an such,” he waved his hand vaguely, “and merely wanted to get away. Your rooms are thankfully free of bothersome people.”

Lily approached him and gently began carding her fingers through his hair. The touch so absentminded and instinctive that Hadrian hardly batted an eye. He merely enjoyed the sensation of her nails running over his head.

“I’m heading out soon, though.” She told him.

Hadrian looked up at her beseechingly. “Please maman.” He said, voice edging on whining.

She raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.

“I just want to relax for a bit. I’ll be gone before you get back.”

Lily sighed, but she nodded reluctantly at his request.

“Fine, just don’t go into my room, please.”

Hadrian smiled up at her, closing his eyes as she bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Have fun with…Mr. Abernathy.” He told her, lips stretching a little wider to cover his discomfort at his mother’s chosen company.

Lily smiled at him, giving a short wave as she closed the door behind her.

Hadrian stared at the wooden door for long minutes, waiting to see if she was coming back. When almost five minutes had trickled away, and the handle had not so much as twitched, he sprang upwards.

With a flick of his wrist, the lock clicked into place, and ensured he would at least have some warning before she came back.

“Now,” he said to himself, “if I were Riddle, were would I put a listening device?”

Luckily, Hadrian had experience dealing with the man and his quick mind.

He headed for the bedroom, ignoring the small flicker of discomfort he got from disobeying his mother so blatantly.

Riddle would not have entered her rooms, the wards his mother had placed over the area would have alerted her otherwise. And seeing as the man had only had two – that he knew of – encounters with his mother, it greatly limited the number of anchors he could have used for his spell.

The safest bet would be a piece of clothing, or jewellery that she had been wearing the day he confronted her. It would have been child’s play for a man of Riddle’s talent and power to set up a rudimentary listening charm, and do it without his mother noticing.

Hadrian slipped into his mother’s bedroom, eyes methodically skimming over the entirety of the room.

He licked his bottom lip and headed for the wardrobe. The spacious walk-in lightened as he entered, easily illuminating everything in front of him.

Hadrian rubbed his chin in thought, scanning through the items of clothing on display.

He honestly felt quite weird right now. Rooting through his mother’s personal clothes was not by any means a pastime of his, and he was invading her privacy spectacularly right now.

But still, he had to find and get rid of the listening charm Riddle had tagged her with. That was of the utmost importance.

She had no idea what she was dealing with, and while Hadrian would like nothing more than to grab her and tell her everything, he was too cautious to risk Riddle’s wrath.

With that, Hadrian reached out and let his fingers brush over the first shirt he touched.

He frowned, wandlessly casting a detection spell and waiting for the faint tingle in his fingers that would signal his success.

He repeated the process with several more items before he paused.

This doesn’t make sense though. He would not bother tagging a shirt or pants – not something she would only wear once or twice a week. He would want something she would use regularly. Which means…

Hadrian’s head swivelled until he was looking out of the wardrobe and to the cloak draped over the foot of his mother’s bed.

That’s it.

He picked up the finely made cloak and cast the detection spell again, releasing a savage grin when he got the confirmation.

I win this round. He thought in satisfaction, as his magic rose to begin ripping the listening charm to shreds.

Only once he was certain the spell was gone – and that there were no more, nasty surprises lingering on the fabric – did he begin to lower it.

As he did, something caught his eye.

Hadrian frowned at the mess his mother’s desk was. She was always such a meticulous person, seeing her work station in such disarray was disquieting.

Cloak still in hand, he approached the desk.

It was even worse up close, and Hadrian wrinkled his nose in confusion. It did not make sense to him, that his mother would ever allow her space to become so cluttered.

He thoughtlessly reached to bundle a few pieces of paper together, when he stopped. His heart gave a dull thump when an envelope was revealed.

The thick parchment, at first glance, was one of many. It was simply addressed, with Amelia Evans written in smooth cursive. But the longer his eyes stayed on the parchment, the more his senses screamed at him that it was more.

Never one to ignore his instincts, Hadrian’s fingers zoned in on the envelope and touched the surface.

The moment his skin came into contact, there was an almost unnoticeable buzz in the air. Hadrian watched with wide eyes, as the green writing of Amelia Evans, rippled and became Lily.

His breath lodged itself in his throat, and Hadrian choked.

He ripped his hand away, and stared as the writing reversed itself.

Hadrian took half a step backwards, mind roaring with dozens upon dozens of thoughts.

Why does it have her name? Who is it from? Why does she have it? Why did it react to me? Why does it have her name?

Hadrian drew in another breath, concentrating on making this one go correctly. He exhaled, dropping his gaze back to the letter in question.

It was open, which could only mean that his mother had already read what was inside.

His hand began to inch towards it, only to hesitate.

Was this really any of his business? This was his mother’s mail. Hadrian had never been so disrespectful as to go through it before. He trusted his mother to let him know if anything important came up.

On the other hand…it had her name. It was clearly supposed to be a secret, if the concealment spell was any indication. Which meant they had been compromised. Someone, somewhere, knew who they were and was trying to reach them.

Hadrian had a right to know who, and why, and what. This was serious. This was dangerous. He had a right to know.

He did.

Hadrian plucked the letter up before he could begin to question himself, and pulled the letter free of its confines.

My dearest Lily –

He closed his eyes, throat suddenly dry. He pushed through the strange emotion in his heart – fear? Concern? He could not quite name it – and started again.

My dearest Lily,

It warms my heart to finally have news of your survival after all these long years. When you disappeared, we were so fearful of what had become of you, and of young Harry. To know you escaped Voldemort’s clutches is a great relief to myself, and the rest of the Order.

Hadrian lowered the letter, eyes unseeing. “The Order?” He whispered, voice raw. “But this is…”

These years have been hard on all of us, and our losses are incalculable. So many innocent people, torn and ravaged by the acts of one man. But regardless, we still stand tall and strong in the face of his hatred.

Please, my dear girl, let us once again join forces against our greater enemy. Both you and young Harry are invaluable to us, and I know that this is the moment we have been praying for. Your return could very well turn the tide of this war.

You have done so well, Lily. But together we can defeat Voldemort.

I implore you, consider my offer, and let us know of your decision. Should you agree, time is of the essence, and seeing you this coming Christmas holiday would be the greatest gift.

- Albus.

After a long moment, Hadrian mindlessly refolded the letter and slipped it once again into the open envelope. His mind was quiet, even as he took a seat on the edge of his mother’s bed and stared blankly at the wall.

He…

He did not understand.

His mother and the Order – Albus Dumbledore, it was Albus Dumbledore – were communicating. Had been communicating. This letter was proof.

The Order knew that they were back. They were trying to meet with them. They were sending letters to them.

No. Not them.

They were sending letters to his mother. They were trying to meet with her.

Hadrian suddenly had trouble breathing. He hunched forward, one hand coming up to clutch at his shirt, crinkling the white fabric in his trembling grip. Each inhale was too quick, half-finished in his throat; his chest jerking each time he tried to breathe again.

She had not told him.

She had not told him.

She had been speaking, organising, planning. All of it, behind his back. And not once – not once – had she designed to tell him.

It was still in the early stages, nothing was concrete. But she had not told him.

Hadrian closed his eyes tightly, trying to get his lungs working while battling with the sudden and sharp hurt in his chest.

His mother had been lying to him. She had been deceiving him with this. She should have told him the moment the Order contacted her.

But she had not.

And sure, Hadrian was keeping secrets of his own. But that was different. Riddle was threatening to kill his mother if Hadrian told anyone. The Order had hardly forbidden Lily from speaking with him about this.

And his mother hated the Order of the Phoenix. He could still recall her voice, soft yet harsh as she whispered names and ranks in his ear, in lieu of lullabies. He knew all of the original members of the Order, knew their strengths and weaknesses. She had taught him all he needed to know.

She had told them they could not be trusted. That the Order was filled with traitors, that they were the reason his father had been killed.

He had listened to it all. Where she hated, Hadrian loathed. He did not trust the Order, because that was what he had known growing up.

And now she was…consorting with them.

Dimly, he heard the rattle of the doorknob, the muffled voices in the other room. He heard footsteps – two sets – approaching the bedroom.

He remained where he was when the door swung open, and the two abruptly stopped talking.

An icy sense of calm washed over him. Whatever had been clogging his throat vanished, and his next breath was crisp and clear.

Hadrian raised his head and stared hard at his mother. His eyes locked with hers.

He could see the second she understood what had happened. How her gaze drifted from him, to her cloak, to the letter held loosely between his pointer finger and thumb.

She looked angry. Angry and disappointed.

“Hadrian -”

“Care to explain?” He asked, voice unwavering, tone casual. He lifted the letter for emphasis. “Well, mère?” He hardly ever addressed her so formally.

Lily’s face tightened, and by her shoulder, Abernathy looked distinctly uneasy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hadrian knew this was not a conversation to be had in front of the man. But at the same time, all he could process was the easy familiarity between the two of them. How quickly his mother formed a bond with the man.

He had a feeling Abernathy was more involved in this business then he let on. The fact that his mother made no move to evict the man confirmed his theory.

“Hadrian -”

“I find it funny,” he carried on when she tried to speak. Because he knew that tone, was well acquainted with the authoritative ring of it. She was trying to shut him down. “that after everything you have told me, every reassurance of ‘just you and me, Hadrian’, you do this.”

He dropped the letter so that it landed on the carpeted floor, just before half-way. “How long?” He asked.

Neither made a move to answer him. His lips tightened as the beginnings of his rage bubbled forth. “How long have you been contacting the Order?” He demanded.

Lily scowled at him, disapproval in every inch of her face.

It was hard not to flinch away from that visage, but he was so mad.

“Well?”

“Harry.”

Abernathy took a step forward, and hearing his true name uttered so gently, so achingly soft from this stranger’s mouth snapped his last reserve.

The pillows on his mother’s bed exploded, raining feathers down on them.

Abernathy halted his tentative approach at the sudden assault of fluffy white pieces. His hands hovered listlessly in the air.

Hadrian zeroed in on the man, because he could not bear to look at his mother right now.

“Which one are you then?” He asked, “Which one?” He prowled towards the man, eyes bright and hands trembling with the urge to just blast something.

“Diggle? Dearborn? Fletcher?”

Abernathy faltered at the rapidly listed names, clearly not having expected Hadrian to actually know.

“N-no. None of them.”

“Which one then? I know Arnold Abernathy is a lie. Are you new, then?” He laughed caustically, “Recruitment must be a bitch for you people. You tend to lose members faster then you can gain them.”

Anger and pain crawled over Abernathy’s features, which was good. He was reacting. Hadrian wanted a fight right now. Anything to get rid of the itch under his skin.

“Hadrian, that’s enough!”

His mother’s voice cracked like a whip, and despite everything screaming otherwise – Hadrian stopped. He shook in his place, jaw clenched so hard his teeth throbbed. The rush of blood in his ears was deafening.

But he made no move to continue.

Abernathy’s shoulders dropped in obvious relief. There was still a touch of concerned-awe in the man’s eyes as he gazed at Hadrian’s frozen form.

Somewhere off to the side, Lily sighed.

From the corner of his eye, Hadrian registered her hair bleeding back to red as she removed her disguise.

“Enough, okay?” She stepped closer, but she made no move to touch him. Which was good, because Hadrian had no idea what he would do if she actually tried. The uncertainty was both electrifying and terrifying.

“Let’s discuss this like adults.” She continued, eyes scanning Hadrian critically, before addressing Abernathy. “Drop your glamour.” She ordered.

Hadrian kept his eyes fixated on Abernathy, a snarl barely contained when the man’s wand rose and cancelled the spell.

He watched as midnight dark hair appeared, skin paled, and features sharpened into something markedly pureblood. Eyes as grey as storm clouds peered back at him.

The man in front of him was familiar, the sight of him tickling the back of his mind with violent intent.

He knew this man. He was sure of it.

The man grinned at him, faltering and so horribly sad. Faded laugh-lines, covered by much more weary, tired ones, came to the surface.

“Hey kid,” he greeted, voice stilted but still incredibly warm and kind. “you probably don’t remember me.”

Hadrian made no acknowledgement of his words, too busy trying to place where he had seen this man before.

He was young, underneath the creases formed from years of hardship. Close to his mother’s age.

“I…” The man glanced at Lily, expression briefly morphing into something helpless. “I’m an old friend of your mum’s. And James. We – well, we went to school together.”

Hadrian remembered the man’s slip during their first meeting. James. His father’s nickname…it had been –

“Sirius Black.”

It had to be. His mother’s age. Close friends with both of them. His obvious affection towards Hadrian from the moment they had met. His parents had many friends, but it made sense that only one of their best would be placed so far into enemy lines to establish contact with them.

All that, coupled with the man’s clearly pureblood features. The famous Black looks. Even so far in France, the Black family was notorious for their beauty.

Sirius’ face brightened a little when Hadrian said his name.

“That’s right.”

The man took a step closer to him, hands raised as if asking a question. Hadrian stared at them blankly.

When he made no move to back away, Sirius took that as permission to come closer. Hadrian’s whole body pulled taunt when those firm arms wrapped around him and slowly guided him into a broad chest.

He stood stiffly, arms pinned to his side, as Sirius hugged him gently – as if he were something precious.

This was his godfather, he realised numbly.

Hadrian had never met one of his parent’s friends before, much less one that featured as prominently in his mother’s tales as Sirius did.

The way Sirius held him, the faint tremors Hadrian could feel running through the man’s larger body, the almost inaudible breath hitches in his ear.

Hadrian blinked, and was surprised at how much his eyes burned.

He was no stranger to hugs. His mother hugged him all the time. His friends and he were never shy with their affections either. Hadrian had received many, many hugs in his life.

But there was something about this one in particular that had his throat working and his eyes watering.

Chapter Text

Sirius carefully let his arms slip away from the boy, watching him with blatant concern.

Harry stared up at him, eyes swirling with a number of emotions. And yet, Sirius could not read a single one of them.

It was intimidating, more so when he remembered the boy’s vehement reaction after discovering the letter from Dumbledore. The remnants of Lily’s pillows still saturated the ground around their feet.

Confronted with this, Sirius was forced to acknowledge that the biggest challenge with his task would not be convincing Lily to join them, but convincing Harry.

Lily had told him that they both held less than stellar opinions about the Order, but he had not expected something to this level.

Harry had been legitimately furious. Not annoyed. Not angry. Those words seemed childish in comparison to the danger that swathed the boy before him.

Just what had happened to the little boy that squealed with laughter whenever he used to throw him up in the air?

Life changed people, he knew that. But this was more than that.

“Let’s take a seat.” He suggested, glancing between the mother and son tensely. The air was still choked with Harry’s magic, and Lily was staring fixedly at her child, an odd expression on her face.

An almost physical weight hung over them.

“Yes.” Lily agreed with him swiftly, seizing the idea with both hands.

They both watched as Harry stalked past them and out into the lounge room without a word.

Sirius bit his lip, “He’s pissed.” He murmured to the woman.

Lily sighed at his words, eyes clenching shut for all of two seconds before opening in determination. “I knew he would be.” She told him. “There was no way around that. Come on.”

They trailed after the boy, exiting the bedroom and leaving the fluffy white carnage behind.

Sirius hesitated when he saw Harry sitting on one of the leather chairs, his left leg thrown comfortably over the arm of the chair. His side leaned against the opposite one. Sirius was bitterly reminded of times he would take up a similar position, all on the account of aggravating his parents.

He doubted he had ever managed to look as casual as Harry did though. The boy’s face was so passive, there was not a hint of his previous fury on his features. And with his magic wrapped up so tightly once again, there was nothing to suggest he had ever been mad in the first place.

And that was somehow more terrifying than Harry’s rage had been.

Sirius remembered being seventeen. No one that age should be so skilled at masking their emotions.

He took a seat across from Harry, Lily beside him, and just took a moment to look.

This was the first time he and Harry had officially met, face-to-face, fully aware of who the other was. No secrets.

Merlin, he looks so much like James.

Except the eyes. Those were all Lily, right down to the steely glint.

“You wanted to talk.” It was almost a demand, and Sirius found himself straightening intuitively in response to the tone. Harry’s eyes were half-lidded, and his mouth nothing more than a flat line.

He appeared patient, but there was an energy to him, writhing just underneath his skin in a way that told Sirius he would probably prefer to be on his feet pacing than sitting.

Sirius took a deep breath, recognising Lily’s silence as his cue. “Harry,” the boy’s mouth twisted slightly, but Sirius pushed on. “I know you are – upset about this. But you have to understand what we’re trying to do here.”

Sharp amusement flashed through those green eyes, so abrupt that it caught him off-guard. “You mean the complete annihilation of the Dark Lord and his influence over your country? Your staunch opposition of all things Dark? I’m well versed in the purpose of the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius.”

It was odd, the way Harry said his name. Both familiar in the way it fell from his tongue, yet completely disconnected.

“It’s more than that.” He told him, shooting a glance at Lily to see what she thought of her son’s remark. The red haired woman sat stationary next to him.

“Is it?” Harry tilted his head like a bird. “When you really think about it, isn’t that your ultimate goal? Triumph for the Light? The Dark pushed back into obscurity, feared and persecuted?”

Well, when he puts it that way…

“Dark magic is dangerous, Harry. It twists and brutalises people.”

“Only those that cannot handle it.”

“So you admit it does have drawbacks?”

Harry quirked a small, vicious smile at him. “Every branch has drawbacks, parrain.” He murmured.

Sirius’ French was slightly rusty, but he was pretty sure he knew that one. Hearing Harry acknowledge his godfather status warmed him a little inside.

“But Dark magic more so than the others.”

Harry shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Sirius might have found the lack of response irritating with anyone else, but even now there was something oddly charming about the boy.

“We just want to stop his tyranny.”

Harry laughed then, bright and sudden, yet condescending and harsh. One of his hands came up to rest just above his eyes as he did nothing to stop the sound.

Sirius’ hands dropped into his lap, and he stared at the boy in both concern and disappointment.

“‘Tyranny’? You do realise that in this day and age, you are the ones seen as menaces to society, right?” Harry grinned at him, chin perched on his palm and eyes sparking. “The Order of the Phoenix,” he said, as if relishing it, “terrorists.”

Sirius turned to Lily for help. He had no idea how to handle this. He knew Harry did not like the Order, but the way he was speaking…it was almost as if he were defending Voldemort.

Lily sighed, the small sound had Harry’s gaze cutting to her like a knife. All his mocking amusement sputtered out like a flame snatched by a gush of wind. She brushed a stand of vibrant hair behind her ear.

“Hadrian,” her tone was patient and maternal and made Harry bristle. “I know you’re angry at me, and you have every right to be. But please don’t push this away because of some momentary emotions.”

Before she had even finished, Sirius knew that was not going to help. Indeed, Harry’s eyes darkened.

“Why shouldn’t I?” The boy questioned, “You are the one that nurtured these emotions in me in the first place, mère. I’m just doing what you taught me, like any good dog.”

Sirius scowled at the comparison, wondering where Harry had even gotten that notion from.

“I taught you to think and react without letting your heart rule your head. I can see those lessons haven’t quite stuck.”

He glanced away to try and hide the wince at Lily’s reprimand. It was a little below the belt, he thought. Harry’s fists tightened, and it was such a familiar reaction that Sirius recognised it immediately.

He used to do the same thing when he argued with his own parents. He remembered the restraint he tried to employ. He never did quite handle it as well as Harry did though, for the boy’s hands loosened and fell into a relaxed position after a moment.

Sirius wondered if it was admirable how easily the boy backed away from violence or cowardly bottling away the issues he clearly had with Lily’s words.

Not a flicker of that anger had touched Harry’s face though, and the boy remained silent. His gaze roamed the room in carefully constructed boredom. For all intents and purposes, he was ignoring his mother.

Sirius narrowed his eyes in thought. “Lils,” he asked softly, waiting until her eyes slid away from her son and to him. “can Harry and I have a moment alone?”

Her shoulders tightened the second he voiced his request, disapproval painted all over her face.

He begged her with his eyes, hoping even a ounce of his intentions somehow transferred to her. She had to know, just as he did, that Harry might be more comfortable without her here.

Their eyes locked and battled, before something in her shifted.

Wordlessly, she stood and headed for the main door. Harry’s eyes tracked her every move, before flitting back to stare at Sirius warily.

The door clicked closed.

“Harry-”

“Hadrian.”

He blinked at the simple interjection. “What?” He asked dumbly, his words forgotten.

Harry shifted his body so he was sitting properly, crossing his legs and watching Sirius closely. “I prefer Hadrian to Harry, parrain.”

“Oh.” Sirius glanced down briefly in minor surprise. It was strange, having spent all these years referring to the boy by his real name. But he supposed it would make sense, if

Harry had grown up being called Hadrian, that he would develop a preference for that name.

“Alright. Hadrian, then.”

There was a spark of appreciation in his godson’s eyes, and Sirius offered a slight smile at the sight of it.

“So,” the boy leaned back in his chair, rolling his hand at Sirius. Already, some of the tension had leaked from his body. “I imagine the reason you sent her away was so that you could pitch your spiel easier.”

So they were just going to ignore the strain between him and Lily then. Alright.

“There is that.” He started, studying Hadrian closely and coming up empty. The boy was bloody good. “I can see now that it’s not just Lily we have to talk to. But there is another reason.”

Hadrian cocked an eyebrow, intrigued.

Sirius licked his lips, a momentary shyness creeping up on him under those steady green eyes. “I – well, I wanted to just…talk. To you.”

The boy blinked slowly, surprised. “Talk? As in – get to know each other?” At Sirius’ nod, the bewilderment in Hadrian’s eyes glowed a little brighter. “Why?”

The simple, honest question stumped him. Sirius barely refrained from gapping at the boy, because what?

“‘Why’?” He echoed, incredulous. “You’re my godson.”

“And?”

Sirius made no attempt to hide his disbelief this time. Hadrian was frowning at him, lightly, as if he were unable to conceive any idea as to why Sirius wanted to spend time with him.

“I -” he laughed uneasily. “I care about you.” He admitted openly. “I’ve spent the last decade and a bit agonising over what happened to you. Listening for any whisper of news about you. I volunteered for this whole undercover mission just to see you again.”

He spread his hands helplessly, trying to show what he meant with the useless gesture. Hadrian’s eyes darted down to study them, before jumping back to his face.

“Huh.”

Huh?

Huh?

That was all Hadrian had to say?

The boy looked down at his own hands thoughtfully, the smallest crease on his forehead. Sirius sat there quietly, allowing the other to work through his thoughts.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Hadrian nodded, albeit stiffly. “It’s not like I have much to hide.” The boy mused, “You can ask me questions.”

Sirius leaned forward eagerly, eyes searching for any lie. Lily had told him Hadrian was a secretive person. The fact that he would suddenly just let him in was –

“So long as I get to ask you some.”

Well, that’s fair. “Okay.” Sirius said, a small smile appearing. “What’s your favourite colour?”

For whatever reason, Hadrian found his question amusing, and he looked at Sirius with a grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. The expression only lasted a few beats though, eventually fading as Hadrian’s eyes drifted away.

“I do not have one.” He informed Sirius, shrugging.

“Everyone has a favourite colour,” He reasoned, watching his godson’s face closely as it briefly contorted in confusion.

“I’ve never really given it much thought.” Hadrian said.

What kind of kid doesn’t have a favourite colour?

“Oh. Well. Do you fly?”

Again, Hadrian’s lips quirked upwards in faint amusement. Sirius felt like crowing as the boy once again relaxed further. He could hardly contain his joy at finally getting answers to his long standing questions.

“Yes.” Hadrian tilted his head, then, almost tentatively he added. “I play seeker for one of Beauxbatons’ Quidditch teams.”

A seeker! Sirius’s grin stretched wider at the information. He chuckled fondly, “I reckon you kick everyone’s arses then?”

“I am the best.” Hadrian assured him with confidence that bordered on arrogance.

“I’m the best chaser on the team, Padfoot! Did you see me sneak past Cranker? Oh – was Evans watching? Please tell me she saw me pull that off!”

“And, you’re pretty smart, yeah?”

The boy’s eyebrows rose steadily. “I guess. I am the top of my year.” He continued dryly. “I suppose that counts as ‘pretty smart’?”

Sirius chuckled again at Hadrian’s cheek. The boy was so much like James and Lily it was ridiculous. The confidence, the sharp tongue, the fleeting expressions. It was all them.

“My turn,” Hadrian said playfully, “why is the Order so intent on recruiting us? Enough to send one of their own into such a dangerous place?”

Any light-heartedness was sucked dry from the air at the question. Sirius’ smile faltered, and Hadrian watched him patiently, an odd little twist to his mouth.

Sirius pressed his lips together, but knew he had to convince Hadrian. “I know you know about…” he glanced around even though there was no one else present. “the prophecy?”

Again, Hadrian’s eyes shone with laughter, his mouth pursing as if to hold back a chuckle. “Obviously.”

“Right. Then you know how important you were – are – to us?”

There was a beat of silence, then Hadrian sighed, reaching up to rub at his nose. “You lot are still hung up about that?”

Sirius sat back in surprise at the question, and the derisive tone smothering it. “You…don’t believe it?” He asked, cautiously. Lily had mentioned that Hadrian knew what they expected of him, but the disdainful glint in the boy’s eyes showed that once again, this was going to be harder than he thought.

Hadrian shrugged once again. “I am not one to put all my belief in something as unpredictable as a prophecy. I will admit that I certainly fill out a number of the criteria for this so called ‘saviour’. But I am not fighting because some cryptic words foretold it.”

“Then why are you fighting?”

Hadrian looked him directly in the eye. “Voldemort killed one of my parents, and hurt the other. He was the one who declared me his enemy, not the other way around.”

A bitter smirk slithered onto the boy’s face. “I am not fighting for some righteous cause, Sirius. I am fighting because I want revenge.”

Something in Sirius withered at the proclamation. “And that’s it? You’re fighting because it’s personal? Not because he’s enslaved an entire nation and forced his beliefs on them?”

Hadrian laughed, grimly. “You forget that I grew up in a country that is perfectly comfortable with the Dark Arts, parrain. All my life I have been surrounded by both Light and Dark. Some of my closest friends come from ancient Dark families. Sure, there is some undercurrents of prejudice in France – no society is perfect, after all, and there are always some suspicion around Dark magic. But I view both branches equally. In fact, I find this fear of Dark magic absolutely ridiculous.”

Hadrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and smiled at him.

“I do not agree with all of the man’s changes. Quite a few of them piss me off, to be perfectly honest. But I am not one to condemn someone for the type of magic they are naturally drawn to. That is like blaming someone for being left or right-handed.”

Hadrian jerked his wrist dismissively, mentally tossing the idea away.

“Your entire war is pointless.” The boy continued ruthlessly. “You all act like there is only one possible victor. Them, or you. Dark, or Light. Only one can prevail. It’s nonsense. There are hundred of countries out there that have both working in tandem. France, Spain, China, Australia – just to name a few. And their societies flourish for that very reason.”

“They’ve killed hundreds of people!” Sirius snapped, “They killed your father!”

“And I will get revenge.” Hadrian cut him off, cool and collected in the face of Sirius’ rage. “Make no mistake about that. Voldemort is mine to deal with. But I am not going to kill the man just so your lot can swoop in and immediately begin shoving Dark magic back into the shadows. I won’t let you do that.”

Sirius had to look away, because the fire in Hadrian’s eyes was all-consuming, and the conviction in his voice was like steel.

“So, what? Kill Voldemort, take his place?”

Hadrian bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “I have no interest in ruling Britain, parrain. But if you think things will return to what they were before his reign once he’s gone, you’re more naïve than a child.”

Sirius stared at him, unable to discern exactly what he was feeling.

He knew all of this already. He understood that after Voldemort there would be years of hard work in front of them. He knew nothing would ever be the same again, and that they could only continue forward.

He understood loss, and pain, and suffering so acutely that some days he forgot what it was like to laugh.

But he had hope. And for over a decade, that had been the only thing keeping him going.

Hope in the Order. Hope that Lily had survived. Hope that she and her son would return.

And now the end was in sight, so close he could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue, and Hadrian was like nothing he had expected.

The boy watched him blankly, and Sirius closed his eyes.

He heard a sigh, soft and apologetic. “I am sorry, Sirius.” Hadrian told him simply, his tone bordering on kind. “I know this must be difficult for you. But you wanted to get to know me.”

Hadrian spread his hands, “This is who I am.”

And Sirius hated it. He hated the bitterness he could see tainting this boy, he hated the glint in his eyes, and he hated how Hadrian was too bloody old for his age.

The boy clasped his hands loosely in front of him and leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees.

But Merlin did he love him.

It was ridiculous. They hardly knew each other, they were so different, their views were clashing already, and Sirius knew there would be plenty more for them to disagree on in the future.

But at the same time his heart burned with pride for the man Hadrian had become. And Sirius knew that no matter what Hadrian did he would always love him.

It was a dangerous type of power the boy held over him, but Sirius never did anything half-way. He would do whatever he had to, to keep Hadrian safe.

Sirius released the breath he had been holding, stood and crossed the small distance between them to squat in front of his godson.

Hadrian made no move to get away when he reached out and dropped his hands on his shoulders.

“Whatever your reasons are for getting involved – they’re your own. I can’t judge, and I promise you I’ll try not to in the future. But are you willing to help us, Hadrian?”

Something indescribable danced through the boy’s eyes, and for the briefest second he looked conflicted. But the play of emotions smoothed out and he nodded just once.

“I will help the Order, Sirius. I cannot guarantee that I will always agree with your actions or your plans, but I will help where and when I can afford to.”

And Sirius knew that was the best he would get out of the other. He sighed heavily, and clapped Hadrian on the shoulder, a weak grin tugging at his mouth.

“Good man,” he praised, rising to his feet with a quiet groan. “now let’s see if we can get Lily back here.”

Any softness leaked from Hadrian’s expression at the mention of his mother. “I should go.” He declared stiffly, shooting to his feet.

“Woah, hang on a second. What do you mean ‘go’?” Sirius’ fingers just barely brushed against Hadrian’s arm, pleading with him to stay.

The muscles in Hadrian’s jaw jumped as he gritted his teeth.

“I agreed to work with the Order, you both got what you wanted. I have things to do.”

Sirius frowned at him. “Is this about the letter? About her keeping it a secret?”

“No.” Hadrian bit out in a way that absolutely meant yes.

“You know she was just doing what she thought was right, right?”

The boy glanced up at him balefully, and said nothing.

Sirius bit his lip, feeling the need to defend one of his oldest friends, even though he had not agreed with her decision in the first place. “She just wanted to protect you.”

Quick as a snake, Hadrian slapped his hand away and stalked his way to the door. He wrenched it open and turned back to face him with a scowl.

“I don’t need protecting.”

OoO

Hadrian fiddled with the cuff of his robes as he waited patiently for Raina and Claire to emerge from their room, before huffing and closing his eyes.

Next to him, Jacob leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling absently. He too, was dressed impeccably, his robes a flattering dark blue that hugged his slim figure nicely.

Nearby, several other boys were similarly waiting for their dates to join them. The air was thick with boredom.

“What do they even do in there?” Albert muttered in annoyance.

Nathaniel laughed quietly, “Everything, my friend. Everything. Trust me, as someone with six sisters, I am well versed in these matters.”

There was a round of snickers from the other boys, and Hadrian tuned out whatever rude comment William made that prompted Nathaniel to shoot him with a stinging jinx.

“You look nice.” Jacob said to him quietly.

Hadrian opened his eyes to look at the other boy. “Thank you.” He replied after a beat. “You as well.”

Jacob gave him a tiny smile, still focussed on the ceiling. “How are you going with the cube?” He asked.

Hadrian sighed, head connecting painfully with the wall as he joined the other in staring at the roof. He thought back to the frustrating little box sitting innocently on his desk in his room.

“Awful.” He told him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Contemplating just throwing it into the lake and going in blind. It’s almost not worth the trouble. Whatever the clue is, it had better be good.”

Jacob chuckled lightly. “You will figure it out.” He assured him, with the same natural confidence he always held. “You always do.”

Hadrian slowly let his gaze drift from the ceiling to Jacob. “That kind of reckless faith is what got me in this mess in the first place.” He reminded him blandly, and was rewarded with a wince from the other.

“Right.”

The silence between them was heavy.

Jacob took a breath, “Hadr -”

The doors opened, and every boy perked up, eyes shooting to the group of girls slowly trickling out of their rooms.

They were all stunning. Hadrian smiled at his classmates as they walked past to find their dates.

At the end of the group was Claire.

Hadrian stepped up to her and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. She giggled at him, smile blinding.

“You look gorgeous.” He told her honestly.

And she was. Her soft blue gown was sleek and flattering, and her blonde hair was curling softly around her face and shoulders.

Claire blushed at his comment, before she winked. “If you think I look good, wait until you see Raina.”

He cocked his head, eyes darting past her to only see a empty hallway. “Speaking of, where is my wayward date?”

Claire grinned at him, patting him twice on the cheek with a gloved hand, before going to Jacob. Hadrian felt warmed at the sight of the two of them, and of the stunned expression on Jacob’s face as he looked at Claire like it was the first time he had seen her.

He hid a smile behind his hand.

“Ready to go?”

He turned at Raina’s voice, reply on the tip of his tongue, only for his next breath to lodge in his throat.

Gods have mercy.

The dress she wore had to be illegal. The dark green gown – it matched his eyes – flowed down to the floor, and wrapped around her form like a glove. Only one shoulder was covered, the front of the dress dipping enticingly down her chest to slip under her opposite arm. Black vines crawled over the thin, shimmering top layer.

Her dark hair was swept up off her neck, showing her unblemished skin. It was bundled artfully atop her head, with only a few inky strands spilling out down the sides of her face.

Hadrian cleared his throat, gaze ducking to the side. He closed his eyes to regain his composure before attempting to look at her again.

The smug expression on her face almost made him stumble again.

“You look…” he struggled to find his words - a first for him. His shoulders slumped. “Okay, I have no compliments that are even worthy of describing you. Please let me have my dignity back.”

Raina laughed, and behind them he could hear Jacob and Claire following her lead.

She approached him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Your reaction was more than enough. Now let’s go, I did not get this dressed up just for you. We have people to make envious.”

Hadrian smiled, offering his arm to her. “My lady.”

“It’s nice to know even you can get stumped by a pretty girl, Evans!” William called out, laughing loudly when Hadrian gave him the finger.

“In all honesty, you look magnificent.” Hadrian told her, finding his feet again.

Raina glanced at him from under her lashes, a pleasant blush on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she squeezed his arm. “you look handsome as well.”

“I am curious though,” he said as he helped her down the carriage steps and onto the pathway that had been cleared to allow them to walk to the castle without the snow in the way. “how on earth did you convince your father to let you wear this.” He waved a hand vaguely at her dress.

Raina smirked at him, eyes sparkling deviously. “Let’s just say my father is perfectly content letting me have free reign over my wardrobe – and after tonight my rights to unsupervised meetings with my seamstress will likely be revoked.”

He snorted, “You do realise he hates me, yes? And you wearing that, while I am your date, will only add fuel to the fire?”

“Probably.” She agreed cheerfully, sounding utterly unrepentant at the chaos she might cause.

Hadrian shook his head, eyes crinkling in amusement at the enthusiasm reverberating from the young woman beside him.

He had a good feeling about tonight. The Yule Ball – for all his grumbling and complaining – was just what he needed to relax from all the stress that had been eating at him lately. Especially after his tense meeting with Sirius a couple of weeks ago.

He had been actively avoiding his mother since that day, citing whatever reason he could to stay away from the woman, needing the space to work through his anger and the pricks of betrayal at her lies.

And on top of that, he was still no closer to solving the puzzle box, and he only had until just after the Yule holiday. That was two weeks. Two weeks he would more than likely be unable to properly utilise thanks to the Order of the Phoenix, who Sirius told them was eager to meet them.

Thinking of the organisation only soured his mood further, whenever it drifted to the forefront of his mind. Because with that came the thought of what Voldemort wanted him to do, which brought him back to the threats against his mother, which then spiralled back to his conflicted feelings for her once again.

It was a horrible circle to be trapped in, but for now, he could see no way to escape the chains torturously curling around him.

The only bright spot these last few weeks had been the short, sharp letter he had written to Rita Skeeter about her little Animagus problem. A letter which had incinerated the moment she had finished reading it, erasing any evidence that he was blackmailing her in the first place. He had not so much as caught a glimpse of the foul woman since then.

So yes, Hadrian was very much looking forward to this night.

They entered the main foyer of Hogwarts, the entire space completely packed with students and staff alike. Hadrian and Raina paused just inside, taking a moment to breath in the atmosphere.

“It’s beautiful.” Raina murmured, and Hadrian hummed in agreement.

The decorations were delicate and glasslike, gold and silver intermingling gorgeously throughout the entire space. The tapestries that hung from the ceilings were stunningly embroidered with traditional patterns.

“You can thank my father for the styling.”

They turned to see Draco standing behind them, looking sharp in his crisp black robes. Hermione stood next to him, wearing a lovely silver dress.

“Draco, Hermione.” Hadrian kissed Hermione on her cheeks in greeting, and shook Draco’s hand firmly. “How have you been?”

“As well as I can be.” Draco said, shrugging. He was at ease though, shoulders loose and hands tucked uncaringly in his pockets. Even his eyes were less tight then Hadrian was used to. “You?”

Hadrian grinned and jerked his head towards Raina, who was speaking politely with Hermione just off to the side. “Well, I was almost knocked flat when I saw her, but other than that, I’ve been alright.”

Draco scanned Raina, though there was nothing more than a small flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “Nice.”

“Uh huh.”

“Ah, Mister Malfoy, Mister Evans!” Yaxley cut through the crowd to slip in beside them. The Headmaster clapped them both on the shoulder. “Excellent. Everyone is processing to the hall now. We must get you ready. Where are your dates?”

Raina and Hermione materialised next to them, and Yaxley nodded in approval. “Good. Follow me.”

Hadrian took Raina’s arm and gently guided her after the imposing man. Behind them, Draco and Hermione followed.

Galiana was already present with her date, a Durmstrang boy Hadrian had only seen a handful of times. She barely gave them a glance as they approached, and turned her face away when Hadrian was pushed closer to her by Yaxley.

“Now, the six of you will process in once the music starts and take your place on the dance floor. You will complete one dance, and then the others will be allowed to join you. Later when dinner is announced, you will head to the front table and remain there for the entire meal. After that, you are free to go where you please.”

He waited only long enough to get their nods of understanding, before he was gone with a swish of his robes.

The six of them stood in silence as they waited for the signal.

“You remember how to dance, yes?” Raina asked him softly, her voice teasing.

Hadrian nudged her sharply with his elbow, causing her to sway away from him. “Do you?” He shot back.

“I’m just saying, you have not been as smooth tonight as you usually are. I have a right to be concerned if my date is in a state that could ruin my reputation.”

“Harpy.”

“Bastard.”

The trumpets started.

Galiana and her date started forward, and Hadrian and Raina waited two beats before following after them.

They burst into the Great Hall to the applause of their classmates, and Hadrian was momentarily blinded by the sheer brightness of the room.

Lucius Malfoy was an awful man, but he was damn skilled at interior designing.

Hadrian helped Raina up the stairs to the slightly raised dance floor, and they swiftly moved to one side of the floor while the other two couples split in different directions.

Hadrian and Raina easily slipped into a standard waltz hold, his hand balanced perfectly on her upper back. They shared a private smile as they waited for the first few notes to play.

“You do realise you do not have to be so polite?” She whispered to him. “We are friends, I am not about to slap you for holding me more comfortably.”

She was right, he knew. Having to keep his hand so high would grow tiresome eventually.

At her suggestion he stepped a touch closer, so their chests were almost brushing, and slid his hand down to her waist to rest more securely.

They took a deep breath, and as the music began to sweetly fill the hall, they moved as one.

Dancing was something Hadrian had initially had some trouble mastering, and his first few lessons at Beauxbatons were a dark time in his life. For all his natural grace, and skill and balance on a broomstick, Hadrian had just been completely clueless on how to dance.

But his pride had been bruised and he had thrown himself into learning all sorts of dances until he was as smooth on the dance floor as he was in the air.

He and Raina spun around the hall with a laidback sort of skill, so much so they seemed to glide. Their movements perfectly timed, their steps unhurried and relentless. They switched their grips and carried on to the beat of the music.

Hadrian lifted Raina easily and gently set her down, catching sight of Draco and Hermione whirling off to the side.

The three pairs of them circled the floor again and again, eventually coming to a stop when the last notes of the song came to an echoing end.

The applause were loud and encouraging, and Hadrian smiled at Raina as they caught their breath.

“Very nice, mademoiselle.” He told her, taking her hands and brushing a short kiss over the knuckles.

“Not so bad yourself, monsieur.”

Her smile was soft and sweet.

The music began to pick up again, and Hadrian pulled her back to him, ready for another one set.

More and more couples trickled onto the dance floor, groups of students clumped together in their eagerness to join in.

Hadrian grinned as the music became faster, and with some quick footwork, he guided them through the throng of students to pull up alongside Claire and Jacob.

“Having fun?” Raina asked with a breathless laugh. Claire smirked at them, effortlessly following Jacob’s lead without glancing at him.

“Most definitely. Some of them could work on their moves though.” She said with a careless toss of her head in the direction of some couples.

“Come now, Claire, not every school provides formal classes.”

She sniffed, though her eyes were bright and happy. “It’s not about having classes, it’s about having coordination, darling.” She said.

“Less talking, more dancing.” Jacob ordered fondly, whisking her away.

Raina chuckled in his ear, “Would you look at that. He’s half in-love already.”

Hadrian made an odd noise in the back of his throat. “Not that far-gone yet, Raina. But it’s a possibility.”

“She will be good for him, I think.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Anyone would be lucky to have Claire. Jacob’s always adored her, and mentioned once or twice ages ago that he thought she was attractive.”

Raina stared at him with a funny smile on her face. “What?” He asked, suspiciously.

“Nothing. I’m just…I still don’t forgive him for what he did to you, but that you have – or at least, have started to…it’s admirable.”

He spun her out and yanked her back in, catching her safely. “I’m always admirable.” He laughed as she swatted his shoulder for breaking the steps. The song came to an end.

There was a brief pause, and then, to the delight of every student present, the lights in the hall dimmed dramatically. Towards the back of space, where the raised stage sat, mist began pouring out, and music – loud and so different from the sweet, light songs from before – punched the air.

“No way.” Hadrian whispered, eyes widening when a familiar song erupted. The beat pounding in his chest. “No way.”

The Weird Sisters cracked onto the stage, and the screams of the students rivalled that of the instruments.

He spun to Raina, grabbed her thin wrist and began tugging her in the direction of their friends. Albert grinned at their approach, shouting over the band. “I can’t believe they did this!”

“I know!” Hadrian’s heart thudded dangerously.

Around them, everyone was already dancing, undulating in response to the band.

Hadrian held out his hand to Raina, because ballroom dancing was not the only type they learned at Beauxbatons, and more than once they had all visited some of the clubs Paris. It was practically a rite of passage to participate, and more than once one of the academy’s halls had been liberated and transformed into a suitable substitute.

The staff were well aware, and typically turned a blind eye on the late-night gatherings. They knew how much it mattered to let the students have fun every once in a while.

Around them, their classmates had already started properly dancing – not the pathetic jumping and arm-waving of a majority of the others.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said with a feral grin. “let’s show them how it’s done.”

She stepped into his space willingly, arms draping behind his neck and crushing close to his chest. Hadrian gripped her hips firmly, and let the music take over.

Chapter Text

“No.”

“But Hadrian,” William whined, tugging playfully on his arm. “it will be hilarious.” When Hadrian made no further move to acknowledge him, William threw a balled up napkin at his face.

Hadrian slapped it out of the air before it reached him and smirked at the pouting boy. Around them, their friends snickered.

Dinner had past without much fanfare. The food was delicious, naturally, and the student had returned to dancing.

Most of the Beauxbatons students carved out their own little corner just to the side of the dance floor, relaxing and talking and drinking the cool punch provided.

“I’m not doing it.” Hadrian told him, shaking his head even when several of their classmates groaned at him. “Not happening.”

“Come on, Evans.” William pressed, “You’ve done it before.”

“Yes, at Beauxbatons, where that sort of stuff is downright expected. There are minors here, you idiot.”

“So what,” William shrugged, “it won’t be the end of the world for them.”

Hadrian shook his head again at the blasé attitude. He took a sip of his drink. “If you want it done so badly, why don’t you just go do it yourself?” He suggested.

This time it was Nathaniel that answered. “We already tried, that thing has more wards on it than my manor. Nothing we did worked.”

Hadrian raised his eyebrows, “You tried – did anyone see you?”

They shared a few looks, then shrugged again. Hadrian rubbed at his face with a sigh. “Well if no one has come to scold you then I guess they already knew someone would try something and are confident it wouldn’t work.”

“All the more reason for you to give it a go,” William said, draping an arm around his shoulders. “after all, you are the best of us. Come on, Champion. Take one for the team.”

“I’m already ‘taking one for the team’ by being champion,” Hadrian told him dryly. “I’ve filled my quota for the next few years.”

“You,” Nathaniel said seriously, even as a grin pulled at his lips, “are a disgrace. Look at us, Hadrian. We’re dying. This ball is so sterile. Sure, the band was nice and all, but we need a little more here. We’re so bored.”

“I am not spiking the punch.” Hadrian said firmly, though the laughter tinging his voice lessened the effect.

They all groaned at him, disappointed. Even Claire and Raina – who he expected better of – looked annoyed at his resistance. Despite himself, their upset expressions made him crack.

“And even if I was going to, I wouldn’t aim for the punch.”

They all perked up, smiles spreading at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“How would you do it then?” Nathaniel asked, leaning forward eagerly. Hadrian swirled the drink in his hand pointedly.

“The punch bowl is warded against tampering – so go for the cups.” He tossed back the rest of his drink, then pulled his wand free. He tapped the side of his cup, murmured the enchantment, then tossed it to William.

“You are my favourite.” The other boy declared, holding the cup reverently. “Now we just need to get to the other cups.”

“Yeah, have fun with that.” Hadrian said, leaning back as he lazily waved his hand around. “This entire place is being monitored by Death Eaters. You would need a distraction.”

“You could take your shirt off and dance on a table.” Claire suggested slyly, a few of the others catcalling in agreement.

Hadrian snorted. “No thank you, though you are not entirely off the mark.” He stood, smoothing a hand down his front, then holding it out for Raina. “What do you say we steal the floor for a bit?”

“What are we doing?” She asked, already allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Not just us, darling. Everyone, up.” They stood, watching him curiously. “Remember the ball for the end of last year?” He asked them, and the smiles on their faces turned conniving. “Precisely. You two,” he said the William and Nathaniel, “can do whatever while we are dancing. I was not involved.”

William gave him a two-fingered salute, dragging Nathaniel off to the side where they could slip off to do what they wanted to without drawing attention.

One of the students went off to request the right song, while the others slowly weaved their way onto the dance floor, getting into position.

Yaxley’s voice rose over the murmuring in the hall, announcing their intention. The floor cleared until only Beauxbatons’ students remained, spread out in three small circles, each with four pairs. Only a small handful of their peers neglected to join them.

“I cannot believe I let them talk me into this.” He whispered to Raina as the first few notes trilled sweetly through the air. They slowly began moving together.

She chuckled in his ear. “I just wish we did not have to dance to this one. The female part is ridiculously hard to do.”

“Oh please,” he scoffed, “I could do it in my sleep.” He declared. They circled gracefully.

“I bet you couldn’t.” Raina teased.

Hadrian playfully scowled at her, and in the next step, switched their positions without missing a beat. Raina barely hesitated as she suddenly found herself slipping into the male sequence. She cocked an eyebrow at him in amusement.

“You realise I get to dip you at the end, yes?”

He grinned at her as the music picked up, the soft tone giving way to something borderline frantic. “See you soon.” He told her with a wink as he moved in time with all the other girls, twirling out of their first partners’ arms and into the next one.

If Albert was surprised to receive an armful of Hadrian rather than Raina, he showed no sign of it, merely wrapped his arms around him securely and kept dancing.

“Do I want to know?” He asked Hadrian as they spun.

“She said I wouldn’t be able to do the female part.” Hadrian defended, following Albert’s lead effortlessly.

Albert rolled his eyes, “So obviously you took it as a challenge.” His grip shifted, preparing to send Hadrian off to the next partner.

“Obviously.” Hadrian agreed, arm raising so he could spin rapidly out of Albert’s orbit and land in his new partner’s arms.

It was the most fun he had had all night.

Raina had not been joking with the difficulty of the piece, and it was only because Hadrian bothered to pay attention to both parts of the dance sequence that he even knew what he was doing in the first place.

Typically, he just trusted his partner to know her moves. But there was something magnificent with the Viennese Waltz that intrigued him.

He came back-to-front with Malcolm, and for the first time got a glimpse of the crowd watching them.

Every eye was fastened to their group, fascination and awe shining at them as they weaved through the complex waltz, perfectly synchronised, unnaturally smooth.

It made his ego purr.

The music reached its crescendo, and Hadrian smirked to himself as he was finally twirled back to Raina. His arms slipped around her slim form as they spun, once, twice, three times.

At the last possible second, he switched back into the male form, hands rearranging and he spun her once more to reverse their spots.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and he dipped her in time with everyone else as the last note pierced the hall.

They held the pose for a beat more, then he tugged her upright to the deafening applause.

Raina hit him, eyes narrowed, though her cheeks were dusted with pink and her chest was heaving as she fought to reclaim her breath.

Hadrian was not much better, and sweat was plastered to his forehead and his back. It was one of the more intense dances, with the added complexity of switching partners constantly, and they only preformed it every so often because of it.

“You said I could dip you.” She complained as they moved off the floor and there was a surge of students taking their place.

“Ah, I never agreed to that.” He pointed out, reclaiming their previous section as their classmates trickled back as well. “Besides, you liked it.”

She crossed her arms but did not deny it.

“Here.”

Hadrian blinked as a cup was thrust at him by William. He took it instinctively, tilting it until he could see the punch inside. He looked inquisitively at the other.

William winked at him and downed his own drink in one go.

Well, I guess it worked. Hadrian thought as he took a sip, humming in approval as the faintest trace of alcohol hit his tongue. It was buried underneath the normal flavour of the punch, but it was there.

“How long until they realise?” Raina asked, taking one of the offered drinks for herself.

“When everyone starts stumbling around like an idiot?” He guessed, and she laughed quietly. “Tonight is about to get interesting, at the very least.”

She grinned at him, though the expression morphed into confusion when she caught sight of something over his shoulder. “Huh, I didn’t know Professor Riddle was a chaperone for tonight.”

Hadrian coughed, head swivelling around to spot the aforementioned teacher standing on the other side of the hall, conversing easily with one of the other professors.

“Neither did I.” He admitted, frowning.

Other than classes, Riddle and he had kept a respectable distance. In fact, Hadrian had not had a single private interaction with the man since being cornered in the library.

The freedom was liberating, and he could not deny that the past few weeks had let him breath easier, without feeling like he was drowning under scrutiny.

He bit his lip, suddenly anxious. His fingers fluttered around his cup.

Seeing the man again reminded him sharply of his task. Riddle would want to know about his conversation with Sirius. He would want to know the Order had – essentially – made contact with him.

His mother’s life was on the line.

He should tell him.

Hadrian turned his head away, staring down into his drink intently. He drank it in one draw, reaching for another one immediately.

He just wanted to stop thinking for once. He wanted the blissful haze that came with being drunk, the mind-numbing sensation that made him feel as if he were floating. Was it too much to ask for just one night without his worries plaguing him?

He had plenty of time to tell Riddle of the meeting. Hell, he could do it after the holidays – he would have more information for the man then anyway. He could play off having no prior knowledge of the meeting, say his mother sprung it on him after they had left Hogwarts.

Which isn’t a lie, exactly. Hadrian thought viciously, still smarting over his mother’s secrets.

His grip tightened when he recalled Riddle’s mocking words from the library.

“Does it bother you that she refuses to listen to you?”

He rubbed at his eyes.

“Does it bother you how quick she was to brush you off?”

More than you can possibly know, old man.

“Hadrian, are you alright?” Raina gently placed her hand on his arm, frowning at him. “You look at bit pale.”

“I’m fine.” He gave her a smile, though he no longer felt the same energy as before. Seeing Riddle had effectively shredded his good mood.

Raina watched him, her eyes clearly showing she did not believe him. Hadrian stretched his smile wider. “Sorry, just a bit tired from the dance. You were right, your part is definitely more difficult.”

She smiled back at him, more reserved. “Of course it is. Welcome to the life of a woman. Everything is more difficult.”

He laughed at her, reluctantly amused.

“Come on,” he urged her, “I’m in the mood to get smashed.” He jiggled his cup at her enticingly.

He glanced behind him once more, swallowing when he found those chilling blue eyes watching him.

But Raina’s hand was in his and she was dragging him away. He turned his back.

OoO

Hadrian slipped out onto the balcony, steps only a touch unsteady as he draped himself over the stone baluster with a sigh.

Even in the biting chill of the December air, his body was warm; the alcohol chasing away the cold more effectively than a warming charm.

Almost an hour had past since he had glimpsed Riddle lurking in the Great Hall, and in that time he had achieved his goal of quietening his mind.

He started giggling, muffling the sound into his shoulder, even though there was nothing funny about the situation.

“Haffing fun, täubchen?”

Hadrian squinted his eyes, looking over to see someone standing a little bit away, leaning much more casually against the baluster than he was.

“Forst,” he said when his fuzzy brain finally connected the voice with the shadowed figure. “fun. Yes. Lots of it. You?”

The Durmstrang student grinned at him, stepping closer. It was now that Hadrian could make out the cigarette balanced between the other boy’s lips. The tip of it glowed a burning red as he took a drag.

“How drunk are you?” The other asked instead, switching to German. Hadrian shrugged carelessly.

“Not a clue. I’m not tripping over myself, and I have not propositioned anyone yet. So not drunk enough.”

Adalard chuckled at his answer, cold eyes looking out on the darkened grounds of Hogwarts. He tugged the cigarette from his lips and blew out slowly. Hadrian watched the smoke thread its way through the crisp night air.

“Can you make shapes with it?” He asked, almost childishly curious. He remembered an old wizard doing it once, when he was a little boy and out with his mother one day in the market.

Adalard glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but his next exhale took the form of a horse.

“Nice.” Hadrian complimented, watching as the magic-imbued smoke figure did a few loops before vanishing.

“I have a talented mouth.” Adalard stated with an easy grin, and Hadrian snickered, pillowing his chin on his folded arms.

“Why are you out here?” He asked, lazily scanning the courtyard underneath. It was late, but no one was quite ready to leave the ball yet. There were clusters of students milling below them though, their faint chattering just barely reaching his ears.

Adalard waved his cigarette pointedly. “For some reason, smoking indoors is frowned upon.” He said sarcastically. “What about you? Don’t you have a date to be accompanying?”

Hadrian huffed. “Raina is doing something with the girls. And no matter how feminine your classmates seem to think I am, I was not allowed to join in.”

“Ah,” Adalard let out, “we do not think you are feminine.”

“Sure you don’t.” Hadrian agreed easily, too easily to be genuine. “I have ears. I just chose not to comment on most of what they say about me.”

Adalard turned so his back was leaning against the freezing stone instead. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “They mock you because you intimidate them.” He informed him bluntly.

“If I intimidated them, they wouldn’t insult me so much.”

The noise Adalard released was soft and amused. “Originally their insults were genuine, yes. You were an unknown muggleborn, unafraid to stand up to your betters.” He took a pause to breath in another lot of smoke and let it out painstakingly slow.

Hadrian watched the action with interest.

“And then the first task happened, and you were magnificent.” The German boy continued. “You went from an irritating nuisance to a terrifyingly dangerous opponent. Even Galiana is intimidated by you.” He added as an afterthought.

Hadrian perked up at that. “Really? I thought she detests me.”

“Oh, she does. She thinks you are the worst thing in existence. But it is not just because of your blood. It’s more the fact that you are too good for your blood status that works her up so much.”

Adalard snuffed the cigarette butt out on the stone baluster and flicked it away carelessly.

“You’re intelligent, and powerful, and there’s something in your eyes that is unnerving.”

“You’ll make me blush with all these compliments.”

The other snorted, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it with the tip of his finger. It was a small display of wandless magic, but amusing nonetheless. “It would take more than what I’ve got to make you blush, Evans. Want one?”

In his hand he held out a second, small white stick.

Hadrian hesitated at the sight of it. He had never smoked before, had never really understood the appeal of inhaling such damaging fumes.

“What is it?” He asked cautiously, slowly taking it from the other and holding it close to his eyes. It was so innocuous. Just a slip of white.