This is the last chapter I had published, next one will be done in a couple of days.
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He waited for Tom to fall asleep before bailing out of the cottage. It was around seven in the morning when he got out and started to walk; Death was next to him, floating around, pointing at people and saying, with a cheery tone, how long they had until their death. Hadrian shuddered when, after crossing a street, Death muttered that the man sitting outside of the little cottage was about to get a heart attack. He quickened his steps and managed to get to the other street but still was able to hear the choked cry for help.
After some minutes of mindless wandering, he finds a place in the town lonely enough for him to feel safe. Planting his feet on the ground in a particularly desolated street he hails with his wand in hand and walks back a couple of steps just in time for the big and weird purple magical bus to stop near him. He ignores the blathering greetings as he steps in the bus, holding to the tubes and other seats for safety, mustering the address to the helper, who screamed it out loud for the driver to hear and the vehicle started moving again at a ridiculous velocity.
His eyes were glued to the tube he was holding purposely not looking at the passengers, not that there were many of them, he could kind of see two sleeping men, and a lady holding two kids at the back of the bus and maybe more people on the other floor.
He pressed against the tube when one of the passengers moved to the exit and didn't think much as the person seemed to stumble on nothing and got way too close to him, not only leaning his weight on him but breathing deeply. He sent a shock to help wake the, probably, hangover man and didn't think much when he yelled and left the bus in seconds.
"Kid, your stop comes next." Hadrian nods, happy to leave the hot, crampy and nausea-inducing bus.
The next time the bus stops, Hadrian moves carefully to the exit, paying the boy and stepping out. He looked back half-heartedly but the bus had already disappeared with a woosh.
The building in front of him was a couple of floors tall, ubicated in a corner so had a curve on its design, it was all grey with soft spots of white and very boring. Though, comparing it to Gringotts was almost unfair. Well, not almost, it was certainly unfair towards muggles. Walking inside, carefully trying to not trip on the polished floors, he asks in the first counter for the responsibility of the Shire account, making the man blink twice before answering in a low voice with just a tint of confusion. Thanking him, Hadrian fixes his hair as he walks forward, then climbs a set of polished stone stairs to the second floor, a chill going down his spine as he gets to the second floor and some gazes fall on him. He walks to the end of the hallway, through lots of small offices and finally to a closed office, a silver plaque in the door that he didn't bother to read.
He sets on knocking twice and entering, not waiting for an answer like his father used to do.
"Good morning," Hadrian says in a soft voice, pretending to miss the jump the adult gave on his chair. The man was probably in his forties, though no one could tell the real age with the stress war brought, ageing pretty early, for all he knew this could be only thirty years old.
Not that it matters.
He, just like the others in the building, was wearing a white button-up shirt with its sleeves rolled up with a green dotted tie, and, to fit better on the character, a moustache. The man's jacket was missing but, without checking out due to lack of interest he just supposed that the jacket was probably hanging close to the door. The office was as messy as his desk, the walls were covered by cabinets and cabinets, and he could see some family photos on some surfaces but nothing more than that. He felt almost relieved at seeing a tiny plant on the corner only to hold a sigh when noticing it was almost dead, it's tips turning yellow.
The man wipes his face with a hand while with the other he closed the book he had opened in front of them, the one he was looking at with so much interest before getting scared by his entrance, and he stands up sticking a hand in his direction.
"G' morning. May I help you...?" He cuts himself blinking a couple of times, before talking again. "Heir Shire?"
He smiles in return, taking the rough hand and barely shaking it out, ignoring the stupor from the man. Taking a seat on the other side of the desk, he fixes his clothes, as the other did nothing more than stare at him and copy the arrangement. "It's very good to see you. We were worried, as your father hasn't come here in months, and you, well, Mrs Langfeil even thought you were dead." His smile freezes in a place.
"Sorry?"
"Oh, never mind that, you are fine so it's not a big deal, but there was an attack in Ireland and so..." he exhales a laugh, that became a coughing fit. "Excuse me." The man gets a handkerchief out of his pocket and coughs violently in it. Hadrian felt himself grimace at the sounds as he reclines away from the sick man. "Well, your father hasn't been here, and then that. We thought that the line had died."
Hadrian blinks, listening to the man burst hysterical laughter.
"But it's safe." He finishes, fidgeting with a fountain pen in his trembling fingers.
Hadrian knew that there was something else going on, the Shire line wasn't old nor important, it was just a secondary family that managed to get some amount of power and, somehow, make money. What would it matter if the shire family was lost when they meant nothing more than debt? But it was that: debt.
And that it's when it hit him, not only was the line useless, and in debt, he wasn't a fit heir, was he? Being adopted and all.
Recollecting his thoughts, he nods just once with his eyes set on the other man's eyes, wishing to make the process faster by just reading his mind, but the consequences could be far greater than worth it.
"... Yes. Father, it's just away from England, he sent a letter just days ago that he met a single woman from a good family in Eastern Europe, and that he was starting to court her."
"Oh?"
"No one knows. It's, eh, a secret, he wants to bring her home, but it's for you to stay at ease, my father is not in danger. He left just before I had to go back to school last year, needing to leave. It's been hard for him lately, I don't exactly know why, but he admitted that to me."
"Oh!" He lets a deep breath out, some giggles mixed there. "That's a relief."
"Why is that a relief, Mr..." he checks the plaque on the desk" Darcy?"
"Hadrian, I met you when you were a baby, you can call me Adam." Did he? How can this man expect that he remembers every single person he supposedly met when he was still being held in his mom's arms?
"Well, thank you, Adam." Why should I refer to you with your name? "But is there something wrong?"
"No... well, your father is in debt. Not with the bank but other people..." the pink tone leaves his face to be replaced with a white greenish tone. "I shouldn't have said that. But, yes, he is in debt. I have been moving just enough to pay these people for your protection."
"My protection? But you believed I was dead."
"... Yes. Still, there was a possibility that you were alive. I had to believe in that..."
Hadrian nods, tightening his fists, feeling the long nails stab his skin and break-in. He understood what this squishy and smelly man was saying: thanks to your death I was taking money from the account. How much was it? Would it affect his and Tom's life in the future? Or was this man sneaky enough to take just small amounts of money?
"But, if you are telling me he is alive..."
"Of course."
'Adam' lets out beaming laughter, rubbing his eyebrow.
"That's..."
"Ok, Mr Darcy, I mean Adam... I need to make this quick, I'm not staying in London at the moment, but with a close friend of mine from my boarding school, and it's a pretty far away trip, so, could you please just show me the books?"
"... No, I can't."
Hadrian has to recover his breath from it
"Pardon me?"
"Your father is the head of the house, not you, I apologize, but I'm not allowed to show the books to anyone that isn't Arthur Corbis Shire."
Hadrian stays quiet for a second, before striking a smile.
"I see..."
Are you trying to be intimidating? Pretty sure a short kiddy with long hair can't cause much fear.
Do you have an idea? I need to get this money, and if he doesn't show me the books the possibility of getting the contents of the vault are null.
Try bribing him.
Be serious!
Try to bribe him, that usually goes well.
I'm NOT going to bribe him.
Oh, that's disappointing. Well, there's something else you can try to do.
And that is?
There is a split second of pure silence between the entity and Hadrian, while the blustering fool sitting across from them kept babbling on something that he didn't care to understand. When he continues, the voice that was amused turns more chipper.
You can use the Imperious. Instead of giving the dramatic reaction that it deserved so, he took to just bite his tongue rather harshly.
I will not! They'll find out about what I did and my wand...-
Stop. I'll make sure that no one finds out anything about this.
Why?
It's fun.
Why?
You'll pay back later, I promise. Don't think of it as a favour or me being nice, just accept. In fact: you don't need to accept anything, just do it, the trace will be gone, I promise.
Swallowing he tightens the grip on his wand and slowly gets it out. He is looking directly into the dark brown eyes of the man as he let the Unforgivable slip out of his lips like a breeze down the meadows.
"Show me the book." Glossy absent eyes blink as he passes the heavy leather book to Hadrian, the boy starts to pass the pages noticing the numbers with a grimace, he quickly uses a Geminio and gets the copy in his bag. "Now, I want to withdraw all the money from the vault, and you'll do so discreetly, and all the money you took shall be taken from another place, I don't care where, that's not my problem, but it is to be paid at this moment. Move." He leans back on the chair, playing with a loose strand of hair that framed his face as the man left the room. Hadrian sets on watching Death float around, checking the drawers, putting his head through the wall...
"Death?" His voice is soft but makes the entity look back at him. "Am I forgetting something?"
It smiles, or so he thinks but doesn't respond as in that second a loud noise could be heard outside.
"Death?! What did I forget?!"
The door opens and closes, making Hadrian stand up, Adam carries a big and heavy-looking bag that clinks with his walk. Hadrian takes it forcefully from his hands and throws it in the bag.
"Did my father hide the money somewhere else?"
"Yes."
Hadrian rolls his eyes with exasperation.
"Where did he hide it?!"
"Somewhere in the Mansion."
That was enough, he turned to leave lifting off the curse, and for a second Adam stammered, trying to blink away his dizziness. Hadrian, not giving him much time to question or be mad, obliviates him.
HSTR-HSTR-HSTR-HSTR
When he opens the door he is encountered by the livid face of Tom in the small hallway. His face was slightly red on the cheeks and the nose, his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were more like slits.
"Where were you?"
"In the bank. I put it in the note."
"Why did you go alone?! Something could have happened."
"Tommy, in the case that something did happen, what could have you done?" Tom snorts, sitting down abruptly. "Whatever. Look!" He gets the bag out and puts it down harder than necessary just for Tom to see how heavy the bag was. The boy got close and opened it, his mouth falling. "We have money! Now we only need to get it to Gringotts. What should we invest in first?"
"Hadrian... where did you get this?"
"The bank." He repeats slowly. "I went to the bank and got us some more money. What we had in the vaults it's not enough, but this is just a lifesaver! There should be even more money in my father's house."
"Why are you saying it like that?"
"Like what?"
"Hadrian... is this money what your dad sent to you? Or was this in his account?"
Hadrian blinked a couple of times, swallowing but quickly masked his anxiety with confusion waving his hand as he went to speak.
"Hmm? No, this was in my trust fund. Father transfers the money in that, the thing is that I usually don't empty it, but now I have no reason to stay here! I can just empty the money whenever he gives me money and moves it to the magical world, and, erm, you know like actually use it and invest and get us a house." The last part is added in a very flustered tone, knowing that appeasing him was better to move the conversation forward. And he points out how right he was as Tom's previously suspicious eyes shifted to something more nostalgic.
"Us?" Well, sad may be the best word to describe the sparkle in his eyes.
"Yeah! We should be much safer in the magical world, where we can put wards and all the protective measurements we can imagine. Here? Not so much."
"That's," he coughs, "that sounds great."
"Yeah! So... what did you do while I wasn't here?"
Tom coughs again and walks away with a reddened face.
"Not much."
"Are you going to get sick?" He asks, putting his palm again Tom's forehead. "You're a little bit hot, but it looks fine."
"No, I'm not going to get sick, just, it's the heat, you know?"
"Oh! Ok." Shrugging he makes his way to the small sofa next to the open window, sitting with his legs crossed. "This man in the bank recognised me. He thought I died in Ireland."
Tom hums, wrapping his hand around Hadrian's wrist. It helps ground him, Hadrian notices.
"Why Ireland?"
"I don't think people know that we study in Scotland. Well, I don't think father knew, so maybe he thought it was Ireland. It's just kind of morbid, you know? The idea that maybe someone was mourning me. Kind of creepy."
"I can't say. I was doing the same when you disappeared last time."
"Were you mourning?"
"I was in negation. I refused to believe that it was true. When I was going to give up and start to, I don't know, do something, I don't believe in God so praying was out of the picture, I was just going to light a candle. Maybe cry."
"You crying must be weird."
"Shut up. I was genuinely scared."
"Why, though?"
"Hadrian," the mentioned jumped at the sound tone, not liking how his name sounded when pronounced like that. Tom's eyes were glaring too, and his mouth was fixed in a slightly animalistic snarl, as if he was going to bite, "You disappeared. You poofed out of the map. Send me a letter than never appearing in the Leaky Cauldron. And no matter how many letters I sent they would always get sent back."
Guilt didn't let him raise his head. Tom was rubbing his wrist with his thumb, soothing him, but he didn't deserve to be calm. He should have gotten there sooner than he did, even if his marks were still there, but not let Tom suffer so much.
"I'm still sorry about that..."
"Things happened, I know, but it was scary." There's a growing silence between them, and an uncomfortable one at that. Hadrian can't do anything more than look down, embarrassed for the tone taken on him, as I was just a kid who ate all the cookies and then pissed on the kitchen counter. The tone sounded too much like Hermione whenever Ron and him slacked off on something that could involve danger and even the slight possibility of perishing, but it wasn't Hermione, this was Tom. There was something sweet about the previous mean boy (that grew up to be a disgusting idealist, that murdered with no compassion) to the soft and caring boy that Tom was now. He blinks, rubbing a hand over his heating cheek, wondering why I was so hot and tinkling. The cough brought him back, and he stared back at him. "You were saying about the man who thought...?"
"Oh, yeah, no, just that. It was weird. Just, could you imagine that someone dies, let's say that you see them or you hear from someone that they are gone, and suddenly they are in front of you."
"Bizarre."
"Yeah. He just went as white as a ghost as if he was seeing an actual ghost, on my way back I was thinking it was slightly amusing, but I changed my mind. It would have been heartbreaking for me."
"Yes... Hadrian? I haven't asked yet, but..." Hadrian looks at him waiting for the continuation of his sentence, but Tom hesitates, he hums towards him trying to encourage with no words to continue with the thought. He sees his hesitation, but not on his eyes as they were fixated on something else, but his body language felt stiff and worried. He has to hum again and this time Tom returns his gaze. "Don't you feel bad here? You said you hated your dad's house but isn't the cottage overflowing with her memory?"
Hadrian has to blink multiple times, he didn't even feel his mouth fall open nor the shock that was painted on his face.
"What?" How could Tom understand something like this? Was his sulking too evident?
"You always say that you get sad over her memory, I don't understand it because in my case why would I keep crying over my mom's failed childbirth or my asshole father, but you did have a good family," Hadrian tries hard to maintain a stoic expression but it was fracturing on the corners, "and I know that you loved her, so... I guess that living here must... hurt?"
"Yes, it does." He sighs. "It's going to be fine, it is painful to be here as we were happy in this small thing, she had just left my father for the first time, and we stayed here for months just the two of us. It was amazing." He then continues. "What hurts me it's not exactly that we stay here, but it's that... I don't know where to mourn her?"
"How so?"
"She doesn't have a grave, Tom. Her body was not found so it was never returned. That is if... that is if she is dead?"
"Hadrian, it's better to believe her dead than have that nag on your insides that she may be alive."
"Is it?"
Tom shrugs. "I don't know. It doesn't seem healthy for you to keep that duel for all your life. It's not as if she has disappeared for a couple of months, it's been actual years."
"I still wish I had a place to leave her flowers. She liked flowers."
"Girls like flowers."
"I also like flowers."
".... People like flowers?"
"Better."
HSTR-HSTR-HSTR-HSTR
The streets were empty, the stores closed and no one could be seen in the scene. Walking down towards the Inn he gets the sensation of being followed with the eyes and tightens the hold on his robe's hoodie. There was no necessity for that as he had spelt his hoodie on with a notice-me-not and obscuring glamours. To others, he was nothing more than a shadow.
He gets his wand out of his sleeve and gives a quick tempus , glowering as he realizes he was late, even so, keeping his wand in his hand, he enters the pub with silent steps.
It was full, many groups disperse around it, singing a slow song in multiple inebriated states but that holds no interest to him, instead he strolled beside the tables, avoiding to knock or even touch slightly the bodies of the other singing and dancing twats, and whispered a password to the steward of the establishment.
The man answered with a nod before tapping the surface that held the number 13 where a key was missing. He turns to the stairs not acknowledging the other anymore, feeling disappointed for his boss for choosing the number 13. The man was probably insufferably giggling about how funny it was to get the supposed unlucky or damned number that muggles fear, oh so much. But he didn't find it amusing at all.
His footsteps on the wooden floor were drowned by the sounds from the pub. He finally finds the room, it's dark wooden door was scratched, the only door on the hallway damaged, and the golden number was opaque, the shine of fake precious material that the other doors had, was missing.
Knocking, he expects for an answer.
A hoarse "enter" is heard inside, and he enters the room closing just behind him.
"Sir." He is about to bow, when his boss waves lazily at him, with a sneer.
"Tell me about him." He nods, straightening his back.
"I saw him just a couple of times, he is staying with someone, not alone, so there are no possibilities for us to..."
"Yeah, yeah. Tell me about him."
"... He is a kid, only fourteen years old. Was placed in the Slytherin class at Hogwarts, and it's polite to everyone, with some exceptions."
"Dumbledore."
"Yes." He says, like a response, even though it wasn't a question. "He is fond of talking back to the man. Other than that there's nothing more. Spends his majority of time with only one student, also from the same house, but formed connections with students from other houses, unlike other students of that infamous school."
"Hmmm..."
His boss then laughs. Loudly. Almost wheezing, though he would never describe it that way out loud. Only peasants wheeze, after all, and his boss wasn't one.
"What else there's of him."
"I couldn't find much more. Who is providing the information doesn't spend that much time around the objective, just on superficial occasions? The teenager that tells me about the supposed Master is unaware of what is spoken when these two maintain conversations in another language."
"Oh, and what language is that?"
"He is unsure, just... hissing. That's how he described it. Hissing and grunting."
"Kids shouldn't hear what happens behind closed curtain beds."
"No... No! No, sir, that's not what I..." He feels disgusted. They were kids, after all. "They sometimes speak and weird hushed tones. I'm ignorant as to what language can be."
"Hissing? That can only be parseltongue."
"That is?"
"Serpents language. They are still somehow spoken in some Asian countries, but they were believed dead in Europe. Only a line could have them speaking it."
He waits, but his boss doesn't seem to want to continue on the thought, and he has to accept it with annoyance. The next time he looks up at him, there's some urgency and want in them.
"I need more of that, keep it up. Something else to report?"
"No, sir... There have been some doubts rolling around about your... interests."
"Oh?"
"Yes, they wonder what you have with this kid, what is your..."
His mouth closed up when he stood up loudly, the old chair creaking at the loss of the weight.
"You will ignore those comments. I'm not sick and disgusting... There's something else. My interest with this boy has nothing to do with that, there's something else. A... This is like a puzzle. Have you ever done a puzzle?" His voice irks condescendingly and he is forced to nod his head carefully. "Well, it's like that. This boy probably holds part of the puzzle. There's something that I have been looking for, for a long long time. I want it. And I have to get there before german or ridiculous and noisy English see it."
Being in no position to question or wonder, he left it at that. With nothing more to say he bows slightly, and turns around and leaves the room.
But he doesn't return to his home, instead, with quick steps he goes to the floo network of the pub and murmurs the direction. He is swallowed by green flames, and as soon as he walks off of the fireplace he waves his wand to clean his dusty robes.
Once again he was in a pub, just thousands of kilometres away from the last place, clearing his throat he approaches the auburn ginger sitting elegantly in the bar, the fingers of the man were tracing the brim of the, from the looks of it, firewhiskey glass before lifting it and greedily drinking till the last drop.
Getting closer to him, he decides to sit next to the other, clearing his throat again, this time to get the attention.
"G'night." He mumbles while raising his hand for the bartender to notice him. "Firewhiskey." He tells the man behind the bar, it complies, getting him a cup and leaving to attend someone else. Without turning his head he starts to speak to the ginger, fully knowing he had the entire attention. "He is looking around about that freaky boy."
At first, he doesn't answer, and he is about to repeat when he spoke in a low tone.
"Life sometimes is so ironic."
He blinks, waiting for the other to continue, but just like before, he was left with more questions.
He was starting to get annoyed by the mysterious dark or light wizards leaving him out, but after years of doing this there was a part of him that was completely uninterested and what they were talking about. From what he was recompiling, the boy had something that these three men wanted... And that was it. He also beholds some superficial information about this kid, so, gulping half of his drink, he says in a hushed tone:
"Ashe is also looking after the boy." He admits. Talking about the others was a mistake, but he was curious as to what else the professor knew. "He has someone giving him information." That, someone, was him. "I'm unsure as to what he wants, he just seems curious."
"His curiosity... where does it reflect? The upbringing of this teenager, his acquaintances, the blank spots in it, his uncanny ability to attract danger?"
"Upbringing?"
"..." He wants to sigh, thinking it didn't work, but almost jumps when the professor continued. "This... boy, there's something about his family, something that I don't know. He can't possibly be just a muggle-born. There's nothing wrong with it." He unnecessarily adds quickly, making him roll his eyes under the obscured hoodie. "But he can't be just a muggle-born."
"Why is that?"
"Abilities. Strange abilities that can only be passed by bloodline, and unless I'm fooled, can't be made by a new magical line."
"The parseltongue ability." He repeats, recalling what he just spoke minutes ago.
The professor turned violently fast towards him, his face had lost the colour that gained from the alcohol. Was he mistaken?
"What is it?"
"He is a parselmouth"
"Yes. At least that's what I was told. That he speaks with his companion constantly in the ancient serpent tongue."
He answers with an anxious rub of his hand, while his expression turns blank. He takes another gulp of hid drink, now knowing that he was thinking and that it could take a couple of minutes for the ginger to continue their conversation. Patiently he asks for another drink and ends up ordering a chicken and beef pie.
He ate half of it when the professor recovered from his stupor.
"That changes things."
"What does it change?"
But he doesn't answer. Instead of waiting for an answer, he finishes his pie, pays and leaves the brooding gentleman to himself.
Stepping out of the pub was eerie. The noise of the loud conversations not only drowned but completely disappeared when he closed the door. The dark alley made him tremble, but he turned and started to walk.
Making a mental note of all that he learned today was migraine-inducing, he knew not much of the 'extraordinaire' kid, but what he knew... Wouldn't do much.
Even with his focus on it, he still noticed the double sound of footsteps. He went to walk faster when a shadow positioned itself in front of him, and he couldn't even yell when the green blinding light struck him.
HSTR-HSTR-HSTR-HSTR
The body fell to the ground, the glamours and spells lifted after his death, and the hoodie fell back, as the shadows around the alley walked closer. Blue glassy and empty eyes were staring up towards the stars. One of the shadows kneels beside him.
And removed the eyes from its sockets.
HSTR-HSTR-HSTR-HSTR
It took weeks for Hadrian to get Tom into a peaceful mood, or peaceful enough for him to sneak out again. He had lastly hugged him and assured he was only going to get food, with his fingers crossed. Leaving the house this time was both maddening and exhausting, as the people around were looking more grim and suspicious of everything including their shadows. Hadrian, being his fabulous self looked odd around the others, especially when no one knew who they were, yes, some can, maybe, remember that kid from years ago, but that was a stretch considering they hardly talk to them; his mom wasn't particularly well at that point and getting to know and talking to the neighbours seemed as attractive as sticking her entire foot in a bucket of faeces.
He decides to go to the magical town and use to floo, it would be cheaper and faster. Walking inside it was like a breath of fresh air, as, even when they were not safe against magical attacks, the muggle war didn't affect it, he gets in the pub and has to pay the now existent fee (ew) for the use of the network floo.
Stepping out of the fireplace he recognizes a blond family sitting at a nearby table, and as fast as a snitch he pulls his cloak over his face, covering just above his eyes, and makes his exit from the pub. As soon as he exits he wishes he could run back inside. His hands tremble on the cloak as he pulls it out of his face, the soft black fabric pools around his neck and shoulders, and he swallows with difficulty.
His less articulate thought said that the city was broken, it seemed like a fraction of what it was. Still, he had a mission. He started to walk at a leisurely pace, his heart was hammering, well, hammering was a strong word, it was beating faster than normal but it wasn't because he was scared, nor frightened if there was a difference between the words, he was affected. Yes, that sounded fine, he surely was feeling sad over the idea that all these people thought "hey, life is bad, but it can't get worse," oh but it could, and it will, he knows, or at least believes he knows. He remembers pretty little about Muggle history, just the basics, but things like the attack on Poland, the Blitz, maybe the problems with the other countries and the actual state of England around this time just left for a long trip to a faraway place. He gulps down, something that has been doing a lot lately when uncomfortable, but keeps walking trying to avoid eye contact with a man that yelled at him from the other side of the street; he pressed his teeth hard when he recognizes the yells as catcalls, surely due to his long hair in a low ponytail. He walks fast around the corner to lose the man and hails the bus.
The bus leaves him two streets away from the Mansion, to Hadrian's demand, clearly, and he walks slowly down the long path, comparing the destruction he just saw with this. The two streets, as a system of measurement, could seem like a short distance if this weren't mansions; he has to sigh, yes, out loud, and dramatically when he crosses the first one and embraces all his confidence as he ends the second one, and is left standing at the gate.
Shire's mansion used to be impressive, they were the talk of the neighbour for its design and the whole style or idea. He never cared. More than not caring at all, he never understood, yes, it was a pretty place, but it wasn't made by the owners of it, so what was the point? Everything from the inside out was thought by other minds, his parents never had much said to it, maybe his mother participated in the design of the nursery, the master bedroom, and later on, his room but that was it. The ones that should have praise were the people that did something.
But enough of whining , he tells himself as he opens the gate and walks down the path with overgrown weed, next to the broken fountain and inside the dirty and dusty porch. He gives a long, rackety, deep breath and opens the door.
The insides. Well.
He bites his tongue when he steps inside the living room, or whatever this room was supposed to be, and looks down on the opaque Marmol, the point he was glaring at was where his skull was busted open, and where his dad killed him.
"Yikes."
He moves past it, throwing the sentimentalism outside next with his fright, and looks around.
If I was a big pile of money that was made due to corruption, interactions with dangerous movements or another dirty way... where would I be?
Well, if this was the twenty-first century probably in a tax haven. If he weren't standing in the spot where he once died he would have laughed, and maybe even slap his knee, but he was so he didn't.
His eyes gazed at the fireplace. It could be hidden somewhere behind it or is it, maybe in a loose brick, but that seemed far-fetched. He struts upstairs, his footsteps echoing in an eerie manner. It was just way too quiet. Softly moving down the hallway he stops at his dad's office door and opens it away.
It was different from years ago.
The room was almost barren, at least compared with the previous looks in his office, it only had a desk and an expensive-looking armchair, it didn't have photos nor books, just those two things. He looked around but there was no safe, which baffled him because it was almost a must to have a safe if you had money. Opening every drawer, looking underneath the desk, on the legs of it: nothing. He moves to search IN the armchair, cutting the thing open with Tom's pocket knife, and after completely emptying the armchair of its fur, leaving it as nothing more than a carcass he admitted that nothing was there. He looks around, but yeah, empty, looks down at the floorboards but looks fine. Jumping around he tries to listen for something echoing but the flooring was perfectly done.
He continues his search in his parents... dad's room. It looked normal. The big four posts dark oak bed was there, draped with silky cream bedding, that was something that kept being a norm in the bedroom unlike anything else, dad, or at least the workers kept intact his mom taste for the creamy colours; there was a chest at the foot of the bed, closed with a key, he notices tapping with his finger the key-hole, twin bedside table, and a chest of drawers beneath a big golden mirror at the other side of the room. Leaving the bag by the door, he starts to snoop around. He finds open and sealed letters all over the place mostly in the chest closed by the bed which he forces open with a knife he had kept in his bag. He glances at it for a second before leaving them behind; he also finds keys next to a wallet with maybe a bit of money, he is unhappy with the amount but still went in the bag; finds photos of people that he didn't know, and photos of his mom, and keeps the latter, but didn't find the money. He searched IN the bed, the legs, the posts, underneath, and had agreed to see under the mattress instead of ripping it open when he finally found it. It was much more than what he had on the bank and was now on his possession.
His smirk widened as he did a little dance of excitement; what he had before was enough to get the house and live a few years, this, God this was perfect. He puts it inside the bag but settles to search for a little bit longer. There was a nag that screamed at him that there was more in the place, but what?
He searches every room and just at the end, gets inside his own. It was untouched just like the others, covered in a layer of dust, he jumps at seeing the jewel box he once bought with his mom. He had only bought it to spend money, for some reason he saw the box and thought 'yes, this is so useful', when he didn't even have many pieces of jewellery, so eventually he gave it to her. And here it was.
Opening, he grimaced at finding it filled but covered in dust. Closing it again, he puts it in his bag, wondering if selling the stuff would be inconsiderate.
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When he returns to the cottage Tom is standing again in the door.
"You should be more productive when I'm not at home."
"You were gone for hours!"
"But I'm back, see?" He passes the groceries to Tom, who placidly took them and let them down on the kitchen island. "So, what do you think about having onion soup?"
"Hadrian, you were gone for hours. Where did you get the groceries from? Italy?"
"Ha-ha, wow, you are so funny. No." He takes his time before continuing with the thought. "I went to the closest one, you know? But it was closed, so I moved further, to the one close to that weird pink house, then somehow someone recognized me." He sighs dramatically, giving himself mental applause for his part, as Tom seems to be believing it all. "It's hard pretending to care about something as stupid as the new marriage of dear Maggie."
Hadrian tried to keep a normal and calm manner as he got the last items out of the groceries bags; it was at the last second that he remembered the lie he told Tom before going to London and had to run to the store and get what he remembered was needed.
"Hadrian, I'm going to explain this as nicely as I possibly can: there is a war. You get that, right? There's a war out there, they were bombing the streets. We shouldn't be even here! We should be in a magical home, or a pub or whatever safe under thousands of spells."
"But we aren't."
"Yes, we aren't. So, you have to stop disappearing, stop lying and try, God, just try to stay near me. You can say that I'm being over-protective because at this point I don't even care."
"Yeah...." Should he admit it? "I didn't even know about the bombing?"
"What?!"
"I didn't know about the Blitz." He could have said: 'I couldn't remember when that took place, so whoopsies daisies', but he wasn't an idiot. Tom seemed to not agree with the last part, as his eyes were fixated on his with some annoyance and sick surprise.
"Excuse you?!"
"I stopped reading the newspaper, I think the last time I read it they were talking about why squibs were dangerous? So I stopped after that..."
Tom holds the bridge of his nose breathing deeply.
"You... How... Merlin."
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That night he did a lot of consideration, primarily about Tom. He knew how the lies were just piling one over the other, and explaining them, whenever he has to, was going to be a hard job, he also knows Tom's problems with people, one of them is being pitied or underestimated, and the other one is being lied to. But how do you get close to someone like "oh, hey, yeah, I can't die, haha, funny story, sit here, it'll just take me five hours to say everything." Where does he even start to explain?
But that is when his dumb side comes out like: hey, that's a future us problem.
Hadrian was kneeling on the sofa, looking out of the window watching the rain, while Tom, sitting by his side, wrote a letter for Abraxas. Unaware of what they were writing about, he glimpses every so often at his friend. He only stares whenever that stupid bird came flying in and waited next to Tom for him to read and answer and would only then leave.
Hadrian wants to convince himself that there's no reason for him to be mad, they lived together, spending so much time with another person is maddening.
He focuses again on the sky, blinking at the white spot moving towards them, and giggling when he recognized the brown owl flying in their direction. He opens the window letting the little, wet and pitiful owl land on his lap and gets the letter. The owl hoots softly.
Dominik's stylish and elegant calligraphy decorated the parchment.
Dear Hadrian,
Did you forget about me? I'm hurt, really, how dare you forget to write to me?
Nothing has happened since our last exchange, my mother is still trying fervently that I establish a conversation and possible relationship with Amanda something, I don't even remember her last name, and I'm not trying to be cruel or anything, she is just bland. Please don't repeat this, it is completely improper of a gentleman to speak so poorly of a lady, but I can't help but fear that if I don't say this to someone I'll combust into thin air and dust particles. We are going for our fourth year, we are not eighteen, so why is it so important that we start thinking about the future so soon? I met with my grandmother, did I tell you that? I'm not sure if I did, but she was concerned because I still don't know if I'm going to pursue higher education after Hogwarts, she keeps nagging us about how important our family line is, and how our name has to be remembered with awe, but we are just a line of Hufflepuffs that want nothing more than happiness and calm, so I had to deal with being called a lazy bug for three weeks. It was excruciating! And now I have to think about which lady I want to settle in! When I'm 14! This is ridiculous.
And if I can admit something to you, well, I'm not much more for ladies, well, I'm not sure. I liked some girls but I'm not sure, maybe a 50/50? So in the middle of this crisis that I'm facing I have to-
I was rambling far too much, so I stopped, I apologize. Even though I should just make a new letter, I'll just continue here, we're limited on parchment.
How has your summer been? Is Rydel still in your house? I don't think it is smart to let yourself be forced to spend the summer with him, you'll be far better anywhere else, maybe one summer you could stay in the Diggory Manor? It could be fun, I don't know what we'll do but we'll figure it out. Max came here for some days and we did nothing more than laugh...
Hadrian stops reading for a second, tilting his head. They had never spent too much time together, and they had far too different personalities, even if he appreciated Dominik's intents for them to be better friends, he can't help but wonder if I would work. They had the taste for adventure, a very controlled one that excluded a lot of possibilities for any harm to come. They both like animals, so they could maybe play with some.
But Hadrian wasn't as calm as Dominik, and he likes some chaos to his life, chaos may be brought by the twins or Orion, on the other hand, Dominik had funny friends that reminded him of the Gryffindors that he shared the room with back then.
Would they have a good summer together? Hadrian decides that no, even with some doubt, and finds that the missing puzzle piece (Tom) was far too prominent for it to be ignored.
Being with Tom is much better than not being with him, even if he has to endure some possessive undertones in some of his actions, he could see himself reflected and considered that: oh, I could do that, I get it.
With a sigh, he continues reading.
... The others have not visited me but constantly write. They even asked about you.
Before going, as my mother is gesturing for me to leave this and accompany her to a tea party (Circe, I don't want to be there,) I have to comment, as to possibly you won't know about this, but you should start to pay more attention to the people you spend time with. There are some sketchy characters in your house, Hadrian. I know that you, well, and your shadow, won't appreciate this, but this is just because I worry about you. I genuinely care about you, and, even if is too far-fetched, I think that you do, too.
Just consider it.
Yours,
Dominik.
Hadrian stared at the parchment for a couple more seconds before folding it in half and putting it down on the windowsill. He mused on the advantages and disadvantages of telling Tom what he just read, but decided against it. Not because he was hiding what Dominik wrote to him, but because it was ridiculous.
Instead, he just crawls to Tom's side and looms over his shoulder, to then rest his head over his shoulder. Tom turns his head a bit but looks directly into his eyes.
"Bored?"
He sighs an affirmation, closing his eyes and pressing them to the other's shoulder. "There's nothing to do." Whines muffledly in Tom's shirt.
"Read a book?"
"If I read another book, I'll rip my eyes out."
"Then what do you want me to do?" His voice is low and calm, but when he raises his face to look at him, he seems nervous.
"Braid my hair?" Tom sighs dramatically, but Hadrian had already fixed himself next to Tom, showing his back to him and took off the hair tie that was holding his hair up. He hums when Tom started to run his fingers through his hair. He makes a noise when the fingers pressed on his scalp; it felt so nice that he leaned back.
"Brat." Hadrian laughs at the disgruntled tone of his voice. "Are you never going to cut it?"
"Eventually." He mumbles with his eyes close, liking how it felt having someone play with his hair. "I'll cut it a bit, just to fix the split ends, they are ugly."
"Is it because it's damaged?"
"Yes. I do think that it also helps the hair to grow faster."
"Faster?"
"Yes. I think that it... I have no idea what it does, I just know that they say if you cut the split ends, it'll grow fast and look healthier. I don't even know if it's true."
"You don't need to keep growing it."
"I'm aware."
They stay in a comfortable silence until Tom finishes the simple braid. Hadrian was sleepy by the time it was done, his eyes were closing drowsy, and his breath had even out to a slow and deep pace. Tom taps him on the shoulder before helping him up and dragging him to his bedroom.
He yawns a goodbye, changes his clothes and falls on the bed. Sleep comes to him just minutes later.
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"What's worse than allegedly scamming hundreds of people in a war?"
"... There's nothing worse than that! Everyone is having a rough time and some person wants to monetize that?"
"No, no, no, that's not the problem, the problem is that this idiot was found. That's embarrassing, there's not even a way to confirm any allegations but the case is so clear that the whole structure of the scam can be seen. Sad."
Hadrian giggled, closing the book, he was about to continue when an owl came flying inside landing harshly on their plate.
"Stupid animal."
"Poor thing!" Hadrian rapidly gets the poor owl out of the salad and starts patting away the food with a napkin. "You did well, love, you just need to get better at landing."
Tom ignored his friend cooing at the bird to focus on the letter tied to its leg. He opens the envelope and extends the parchment to read.
Hadrian got the owl in his arms to cuddle the poor grey baby owl, making noises at it. Tom pits the letter down and moves towards the kitchen getting a couple of treats that Typhoeus likes. The owl was watching darkly at the baby owl from the ceiling, glaring at the ball of fur for being in his owner's arms.
"It was Abraxas. He comments that the war has been in silence for days, including the muggle one." Tom says as Hadrian fed the owl with the seeds Tom extended for him. "We should be thinking of moving to the Leaky Cauldron, Hadrian," Hadrian complains. Loudly. "I know it's better here, but he has a point, the attacks have been happening everywhere, and they can also get here. We are, after all, in a muggle town. It's only a week and a half for the end of the summer, love. We can manage with just a couple of days in the Inn." Hadrian sighs deeply.
"I know... well, I guess you are right. It was just so comfortable to stay here, though. And we were also saving money!"
"We should still move."
"Yes, yes. Fine, let's pack and go. If there's something that doesn't fit it in my trunk, it has an extended spell. And things that are little or well yes, that, put it in this bag."
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"Will you look at this..."
"Hmmm?" Hadrian passes the page on his magazine, laying next to Tom.
"This year we have a thing at Hogwarts."
"How so?"
"Yes, an event, kind of like a ball I guess. We need formal robes?"
"Oh? Oh!" Hadrian springs to life, moving fast and excitedly. "We can have our robes made by Abraxas' aunt! I'm going to send him a letter!"
"Really? Wouldn't it be cheaper to..." he didn't want something cheap, he wanted to look good. He imagines themselves in clean fresh cut robes, dancing under the starry ceiling. "Well, if it's not that expensive."
"We have the money. The last investment went well, that shop has grown 15% since we put our money in there. We can do this." And they also had thousands of galleons in the vaults at Gringotts.
"Okay, then. Send your letter." Hadrian gave little jumps as he went to get parchment and a quill from their bag. He kept looking at his back. "How long do you think it will take Abraxas to answer?"
"I don't know. You are closer to him than me." Tom just nods, still fixated on Hadrian.
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"Please, don't move." Hadrian nods, only to be comically slapped in the head for moving. "I said to not move."
The magical metric measurement tapes were just flying around him, too fast for him to see what was happening. He just let them work while glancing at the beautiful blonde woman in the room. She was taller than Abraxas, complementing with also high heels and a tight robe, that while they kept her status as a pureblood let her hourglass figure be appreciated. Her long blonde, almost platinum, hair was also brushed very primly, with some long loose strands of hair placed over her shoulder.
She had to be at least a quarter Veela, and if she wasn't, then the attention of the men around her could only confirm her of being art.
Hadrian shrugged away his stupids poems about Abraxas aunt's hair and looks at Tom who was sitting with his legs crossed and a barely concealed scold.
"What's wrong?" Tom just shrugs, wanting to stop Hadrian's attention on the woman. Hadrian limits himself to just ask, using all his will strength to not move as the measuring tapes got closer to his... parts. "What colour are you picking?"
This seems to be a scandalous question, as Lucille gasps like Hadrian just offended her entire family.
"Oh, no, no, no. No picking. The colour of your robes will be in consideration of your undertones and other primary features that you possess." Hadrian, not knowing what any of that meant. just nodded again as he steps out of the stool. "Ok, I have everything I need. I'll be back in a couple of days." She walks to Abraxas and gives him two kisses on both cheeks before leaving the room, ignoring the glances. Hadrian sits next to Tom, who's hand latched to his. Hadrian was still looking where Lady Malfoy left when he said with a sigh.
"She is so pretty." Tom looks taken aback while the blond nodded.
"I know!" Abraxas fawns over it, smiling widely, looking completely different from his usual perfect pureblood heir style.
"I find it surprising that she is here. Doesn't she have a family to attend to?" Tom asks.
"Lucille is not married."
"Oh?"
"She was in love when she was younger, but her fiance was murdered, after that, she was never with anyone. Her only other passion is robes confection. All that she makes is so breathtaking, I think that her love with him was this marvellous, almost magical."
Unsure on how to proceed with the topic, feeling weirdly nostalgic, he takes the black hair-ring with a flourish of his wrist, as he asks, "Do you know why we need the robes?"
Abraxas nods, his previous airy and childish demeanour went back to the one he knows best with a serious bearing.
"So, you know what happened at the school meeting?" Hadrian snorts.
"Do you know what happened to our neighbour Maggie?" Abraxas blinks.
"No?"
"Yes, exactly. Explain."
"There's going to be changed in our school life. Dumbledore went to one of the parents and professors' meetings," he stops his telling to turn and explain, something that didn't need explaining, "they discuss the curriculum, what's appropriate and necessary and not to be taught, and if there is another inconsistency, well, they talk about it. Whatever, so Dumbledore went, dressed fine, thanks to Circe, and just admitted that our curriculum was severely lacking something crucial. What he admitted was lacking just froze them."
"... And that is?"
"Magical culture."
There's a second of silence, while Hadrian processed the information.
"Sorry?"
None of this sounded like Dumbledore. His past-self would have fought, stating that if Dumbledore thought it was unnecessary then it was for a reason. But now there was nothing to defend, as the ginger seemed to be trying fervently to amend mistakes that he made with the pureblood families. But instead of dwelling more on it, in such an inappropriate place and moment, he gestures Abraxas to continue; the blond did with a flare.
"We are allowed to see classes about our culture, about our history, follow our heritage, oh..." he clears his throat when glancing at Tom. Tom retaliated by putting his arm around Hadrian with his head raised defiantly. "Well... it's not going to be graded, as duh, it's too easy of a grade, but the idea of... muggle-borns learning about us makes my skin crawl. In a good way, clearly."
"So, the robes..."
"There's going to be a Yule ball. There's nothing much about it, I mean if you do a short blessing to Circe, pay your respects to our ancestors and participate in the dance, you are to get a boost in your magic. Just don't be greedy." Hadrian giggles, raising his glass and drinking from it.
"Are they going to teach about courting?"
Abraxas almost spit out the wine, barely managing to not make a fool of himself.
"Sorry?"
"Are they going to teach about courting?" Tom repeats, slowly, making sure to pronounce every single word perfectly, as Hadrian restrains a cackle. "That's part of the culture. I'm sure."
"Y-yes... I guess they will, but maybe not to us, maybe to the oldest year, as we are mere fourth years, Tom. Though, if you ask, I don't see why they would hold on to the information... But if you need I can lend you books on it. "
He only waves it away, sipping on his glass.
"Wait, if it's going to be a Yule ball my robes should be a softer lighter colour."
"That's your concern?"
"Don't worry, Hadrian! I'm sure that you'll look ravishing on your... robes."
"Good." Harry laughs, while Tom scolds at the blond. "What colour do you think Lady Lucille will pick? I think it's between emerald and... maybe purple?"
"Purple?"
"Yes, once I heard that it looks stupendous with my eyes and hair colour." Abraxas nods.
"Oh, it does, but it will be lighter, in case it's green it will be a light emerald, maybe with some silver and pure whites; or it could be green hellebore... Or a light azure, no, not that one, it will not be as striking... It has to be cool tones... Maybe even a pure white? It could have green jewels all over."
"A wedding gown like that would be marvellous, but I don't need that much attention in a yule ball." He jokes. He turns to look at Tom at feeling him stop a shiver. "Are you cold?"
"No. I'm fine. Is there another surprise that you should be telling us, Abraxas?"
"Just that. There are also going to be more electives, one is Alchemy, but it's only going to be an option since our fifth year, due to its intricate and volatile nature. And it'll be superficial, from the sixth year that you'll start to produce substances and change the nature of them."
Minutes later Hadrian and Tom were saying goodbye to both Abraxas and Lady Lucille to return to the Leaky Cauldron. They only had one last night before returning to Hogwarts, but instead of talking or doing something else the two silently conceded to go to sleep early.
The next day, they woke up fairly early, got their things and left for the platform through the floo 45 minutes before the train left. They got comfortable in a compartment and waited for the others to arrive. Hadrian had fallen asleep when the Slytherins arrived. They barely managed to shut their mouths at Tom's glare and not wake him up.
"How was your summer break?" Adrian asks, sitting next to Abraxas with a grimace.
"Uneventful."
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