The following story is SLASH, meaning a relationship between two MALE characters. It also has a significant age gap of 21 years. Harry (Hadrian) is seventeen is this story, and while the age of consent in Britain is 16, those in position of authority (for example - teachers) are not allowed to engage in sexual relations with minors. So there is a slight legality here; however, you're on .
OTHER WARNINGS INCLUDE: Explicit languages and situations, possibly gore, and a probably not "healthy" relationship between two wizards, though there will be no trace of non-con in this story.
And for all you other lovelies—welcome to my attempt at doing a Tom/Harry story justice.
DARK AND TWISTY
Chapter 1 - A Worthy Cause
Hadrian wakes to stone cold underneath his fingertips, chilling through his thin ritual robes. His blood flakes from his back. The robes stick to odd places, ripping at skin as he struggles to his feet.
He kicks the salt circle open and fresh air floods into the space, diluting the heavy scent of fish and ash. Hadrian breathes deeply. Closes his eyes. Opens them.
Three corpses are strewn in a triangle inside the circle. A snowy-white owl, feathers gleaming in the torch light, its throat cleanly slit. A long rainbow fish, the magic of which is said to keep it alive for hundreds of years. A thestral, only to be destroyed by hate-filled dark curses. Easy things to kill, even the thestral didn't put up much of a fight.
Hadrian stretches, bones clicking. Sharpened eyesight flickers around the room. The first time he did a ritual the sight of blood made him wretch for days. Now Hadrian walks past the dead with naught a glance. They're only animals, after all.
Did it work?
A yew wand twists around his fingers. Hadrian points at the bird carcass—she's dead, there's nothing that can hurt her anymore—and whispers "bombarda."
White feathers explode across the room, guts ricocheting around the room like bullets. Was this a worthy cause?
"I want the Slytherin Common Room." Hadrian says, voice strong and confident.
The room widens, everything but Hadrian morphing into a perfect approximation of the aristocratic, green and silver common area.
Hadrian surveys the room one more time. Pulls out a blank parchment. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."
Locations spill across the parchment in snakes of ink. Severus Snape's icon hovers in his office. A pair of fifth-year Ravenclaws are still in the prefect bathroom, most likely no longer on duty.
The invisibility cloak forms to him like a skin. Hadrian casts a noiseless spell and a light disillusionment. One can never be too careful.
Hadrian sneaks through the castle, map open underneath the cloak and wand at the ready.
A flush of hot, thick and coiling in his belly.
Hadrian trips over nothing, hands catching him on the dusty stone floor. Something foreign gathers inside. Hadrian grits his teeth and pulls his knees to his chest, tucking the cloak around his spasming body.
He wants to kill. If Ronald Weasley happened around the corner Hadrian would use the bone splintering curse, a cast for every bone in the human body.
Hadrian is enraged. He won't be able to fight it any longer—the anger fades faster than one can scream.
He gets to his feet. This is the third ritual he's used from Moste Evil. The author is a fucking idiot. If Hadrian ever writes a spell book, he sure as hell is going to record possible side effects.
A white feather clings to his invisibility cloak. Hadrian plucks it, holding the feather for just a second too long before blowing, softness turning to dust.
Was it a worthy cause?
He stops in front of the Slytherin Common Room wall. His hands shake.
"Basilisk." Hadrian whispers. The wall creaks open.
Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass sit side by side on a velvety green couch. Three textbooks are open on the coffee table, but neither seem to be using them.
Hadrian stops. Cocks his head to the side.
The two whisper to each other, their conversation under a heavy muffliato. It's well-known that Draco and Daphne are engaged to be married right out of school. It will be good for both their families.
Draco sweats an unusual amount, the stress kind that fills a room like Muggle tear gas. He's not usually this nervous, and it could be anything from a sexuality crisis to attempting murder.
But Hadrian has to be sure. Whispers are dangerous things. Hadrian forms a set of air runes with his wand, mouthing the words but keeping them inaudible. Spells like muffliato can be broken if you're powerful enough.
Hadrian is always powerful enough.
A bubble of light blue fades in and out of view. Draco and Daphne are too far into conversation to notice. The bubble stretches, taking Hadrian in like the protective arm of a mother.
"You can take as many lovers as you want. I only want you to keep your head on tight and make sure you use the proper discretion."
Draco swallows. Ever since Draco became of age he's stopped slicking his hair back. The messy blond look does well for him, locks of platinum sweeping the tops of his high cheekbones. "Daphne. We're going to live a lie for our entire lives."
She scoffs. "As it's been done a million times before. Get a grip on yourself."
Hadrian steps out of the muffliato and sneaks up the stairs. He can never be more thankful for being in Slytherin. Hadrian unlocks his door with a set of three charms. This has been his room for the last seven years, and it's always such a disappointment to go home.
He pulls open the velvety curtains and quickly changes into nightclothes. Untucks the bedsheet, pulled tight every morning. No house elf has been in his room since second year.
A warming spell clings tightly to the goose feather duvet. Hadrian locks the door with a complicated set of charms. You never know what stupid student might try to sneak in, for revenge or other reasons unknown.
Hadrian gasps. Another roll of emotion clings to his body. Passion, an incredible drive, and want roll into one, with a bittersweet taste left in his mouth. He's always been good at controlling himself, but to this he's helpless and squirming.
As if sucked away by a Muggle hoover, the feeling spins away.
Hadrian stares up at the ceiling. Slowly relaxes every bit of his body.
Hopefully the side effects don't last long, but whatever this is, the ritual was worth it. Hadrian's magic calls much easier to his fingers.
A deep emerald green swirls patterns above his bed, glimmering like malicious pixie dust, controlled by a simple wave of Hadrian's finger. His raw magic has always been the colour of an Avada Kedavra curse.
It's dark and comforting. Hadrian spins magic until he can't keep his eyes open.
He sleeps.
o0o0o0o
There are only a handful of Ravenclaws and Slytherins awake a 7 o'clock on a weekend morning. Hadrian ignores all of them, and they do the same to him. Sunday breakfasts are a time of peace, where he can cut his fruit in equal pieces without Blaise snickering and butter his bread evenly without anyone complaining about him using the knife too long.
Hadrian eats methodically, and no one bothers him when he's done. Nobody makes eye contact on the way to the library either. There's only been one more attack since last night, one so filled with anger Hadrian had trembled and brooded for half an hour.
It's not Hadrian that's being weak. These are not his emotions. They will wear off soon.
"Morning Hadrian." Hermione utters. Her unruly curls have been tamed back into a high-ponytail. She's halfway through a tome larger than her head.
"Have the birds managed two-winged flight?" He plunks Defending Against Magical Creatures onto the desk and attempts to keep from wrinkling his nose at it. Hadrian bought it new, but it has smelled like Montgomery since the first class, peppermint, basil, and sauerkraut.
"They flop around like chickens for a couple of seconds and then fall."
Hadrian gives her a smirk. "I'm sure you'll get it eventually."
"Hardy har har, cousin." She fingers her white and green striped tie.
He gives an inconsequential wave of his hand. The majority of Hogwarts students would see it as gesturing - a handful would recognize a wandless muffliato.
"You've been waiting ages to show that one off to me, haven't you?" She raises an eyebrow.
"No."
Hermione tucks an unruly curl behind her ear and gives her best innocent look. "No what?"
"No, I am not attending Sirius and Regulus' Yule party."
"Sirius is going to whine for weeks."
"And how is that my problem? I'm not getting involved in the Potter-Black feud."
She rolls her eyes. "You're half the reason it started."
Hadrian looks her up and down, and his wand spits out of the holster around his arm. "I dare you to say that again."
Hermione looks up at him. Closes her book and sticks it in her bag. "Please Hadrian, at least consider it?"
"When fucking pigs fly."
She smiles. "I'll see you in Charms."
Hadrian keeps his sneer to a minimum amd turns to the relevant page in his textbook. The class is covering vampires, werewolves, and fae this Monday, and he needs to know all the shit Professor Montgomery wants them to spout.
An hour of study later and Hadrian is about ready to throw the book at the wall. It's all passive aggressive words and outdated as fuck. The laws passed in the last 5 years make over half the information discriminatory. How the fuck did it get published, never mind approved for the curriculum?
Wings beat against the air, the smell of soot-covered feathers defiling Hadrian's nose. He turns. A giant brown owl flaps into the library, zigging and zagging like it's attempting to ski through the air.
Sherman cannonballs into the table and makes the most pathetic noise known to creature. Hadrian rolls his eyes. Waits for his father's owl to stick out his leg.
The letter is typical James Potter, an expensive envelope abused shut around thick parchment.
Son,
I hope your seventh-year is going well.
Your mother and I have agreed to disagree. We're going to the Yule Party on the 24th. Sirius sent both our invitations in the mail.
I'll see you on the 17th for the start of Christmas Hols. We'll have to get you fitted for nice dress robes, the last time was third year, yeah?
Sincerely,
Your Father.
Hadrian taps his chin, crumbling the paper in his fist. He could refuse - he's aged out this summer, but then Dad will throw a fit, and Mum will create tension-filled silences that last for hours. You can never be quite sure which side Lily will take in a fight, so she ends up ignoring both sides until they get their shit together.
Only one more holiday break. One more year of school and Hadrian can leave. It's not like they really want him around, anyway. His parents like holding onto ideas. The idea of the perfect half blood heir, raised in both worlds but perfectly well-adjusted.
Hadrian should be entrenched in light philosophy and surrounded by the bigots with well-mastered patronizing smiles.