On the 31st of October 1981, a legend was created.
The legend of a hazel-eyed prophesied saviour triumphing over and vanquishing at fifteen months a Dark Lord so feared his name became an unintentional taboo.
It was a legend that would bring out the very best and the very worst in two Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Wizarding Britain's peerage.
This was a catalyst for change.
On the 1st of November 1981, a destiny began to unfold.
The destiny of an emerald-eyed fate-born seer who would live through the condemning abandonment, negligence and abuse by those that nature choose to nurture him and who would emerge from the darkness reborn as something else. Something that was desperately needed in a dying society.
It was a destiny of one lone boy that would decide the twisting tides of a to-be, already reawakening war, and in the gentle hands of that blessed child the salvation that is needed will rise.
This was a fate foretold long ago.
On the 1st September 1984, an act of kindness and cunning ambition paved an irrevocable way of godsend victory.
The moment magic herself accepted the vow and intentions of one determined and ambiguous man was the one moment that the war was over before it even began.
It was an act of benevolence done in honest conviction that would save lives, light and dark alike, and bring a swift and decisive end to an otherwise terrible war.
But who's victory was it that was foretold?
That was an answer only one little boy knew.
And his lips were sealed.
Regulus Arcturus Black, age twenty-one, was deep in thought.
This was not unusual. Unusual was merely the unexpected topic keeping him so intensely occupied.
Three hours ago his older brother had returned to their ancestral home for the first time in eight years, but sadly not completely out of his own free will. A necessity born from desperation had brought him back, and he had arrived with a host of problems headed by a nice headache for his unprepared baby brother. Nevertheless, seeing the older man so uncharacteristically pale and shaking, Regulus had deigned to listen to his brother, against his better judgement born from experience, being curious and worried what could have upset the normally composed and arrogant man so much that he seemed to be on the verge of collapsing in tears.
He had not expected to be forced to deal with a man whose entire world view had just been fundamentally destroyed. From what he had been able to gather, Sirius had wanted to surprise the Potter brats and had turned up unannounced. Thus, he had been witness to his best friend, someone he considered a brother, beating his own flesh and blood, his younger son, until that little back was ripped to pieces and bathed in blood.
Regulus sighed.
Family … what an exhausting drag.
He loved them all, but he was pretty sure that every grey hair he prematurely gained was supremely owned to their antics and escapades.
Why again hadn't he rejected the Black Lordship? Ah yes, because Sirius would have been even worse than Regulus at reigning in the nuthouses this family was made of, seeing as he was one of the most obvious ones.
Still, Regulus had a bad feeling.
He had never seen Sirius so disturbed and desperate. Oh, he had always known that once Sirius had children, he would be a terrifying father, and being godfather had already changed his older brother in ways he hadn't thought particularly possible or realistic in this life. But such a deep emotional attachment was more than surprising – it was indeed worrisome.
Blacks were legendary for their madness and their family loyalty.
And Sirius … well, after the way his childhood and their genes had shaped him, wasn't exactly the most … sane.
Regulus cringed, not even daring to contemplate how Sirius, who was obviously already on the brink of his marginal sanity at the moment, would react if Regulus should choose to deny the older man's request of adopting his brother's godson as his own son.
As the Black heir.
The situation was complicated enough already.
The Potter boy in question was the younger twin of the Boy-Who-Lived, the source of Regulus' Lord's assumed demise. Adopting the child could proof to be aggravatingly difficult. But if he didn't … well, Regulus had never condoned child abuse, no matter the child's magical affiliation, and he was more than loath to start now, despite the blood status and undesirable parentage of the child in question. Child abuse was the single most unforgivable crime in his eyes.
Fuck, Sirius … he really had a talent to make unpleasant situations so much worse.
It was fascinatingly exasperating.
Sometimes he really hated his brother … especially when he was, like sadly so often, the very reason Regulus religiously consumed Headache potions.
There were quite a few holes in his brother's request. But before he even continued to scheme, he had to decide if he even wanted to blood-adopt the child. Regulus as a father … well he couldn't really picture that. Not really.
Nevertheless, as it was so often said, sometimes all that was needed was the right child to awaken withered and hidden parental urges and potential.
In conclusion … oh, absolutely wonderful. Why? Damn, why?
He really didn't appreciate the only course left for him.
Reconnaissance.
Cold infuriated eyes looked on grimly as a brown-haired bespectacled man swung the brown leather belt and mercilessly whipped a tiny green-eyed child, bloody lashes running skilfully over the ghostly pale, scarred little back. Regulus gritted his teeth violently. Every damn vertebrae was showing so stark, he was effortlessly able to count them all.
It was sickening.
He felt bile climb up his constricting throat.
A grown man, a god-damn father, was beating his own son, his youngest helpless child, and it made Regulus blood boil in rage. He wasn't a very passionate or compassionate man, but even he nearly wept bitter tears for that broken little boy who didn't make a sound. No moan, or sob, or scream escaped those pouty rosy lips, settled into an indifferent line.
Apathetic.
Removed.
Traumatized.
He had watched, nearly impotent in his mounting fury, the child for almost three hours now. In these three hours he had come to a horrific realisation.
The Potters were bloody murderous fools.
And should be sterilized so as to spare any other hypothetical children they had of having them as so-called parents. Really. It would be a cosmic blessing.
Regulus wouldn't be adverse to executing that particular brand of justice upon them himself.
They had a self-polishing shining jewel sitting before them, a serene, intelligent, dedicated and well-behaved child, and they choose to worship the older, actually embarrassingly pathetic brat. No matter what the little one did, his older brat-brother was always accredited for it, praised like he regularly laid the golden egg and summarily acquitted of any mistakes he made, the blame readily shifted on small burdened shoulders too used to it to fight back anymore. He had seen the child study Elementary School books on his own without difficulty, had watched him diligently tidy up his little 'room', more like a broom closet really, cook when he couldn't even really reach the stove and witnessed, viciously bound by sudden and powerful feelings beyond indignation that absolutely stumped him, how the child was physically and verbally abused. A slap here, an insult there.
Casually.
As if it was the bloody norm.
If Sirius plea hadn't been enough to shake him, witnessing this little piece of hell a child, hell any child, a toddler of just barely four years, really, was forced to survive, was more than adequate proof that the boy needed to be removed from that poisonous environment.
Now.
Regulus Black was well and truly beyond merely incensed and had long since entered murderously furious.
Once upon a time, he had been a boy and powerless against his own misbegotten mother, but he had always known that her hateful treatment of his brother was unacceptable and largely at fault for the way Sirius turned his back on their family. It was only after Sirius had run away and Lord Charlus Potter had threatened their father and mother with a Custody Calling before the Wizengamot, had Regulus learned of the term 'abuse' and what it entailed.
What his brother had been forced to face.
Day for day.
Alone.
He had never forgiven his mother.
Not even after her death.
From that day one, abuse, especially of children, had been up there on par with the 'Unforgivables' as far as he was concerned.
Something his Lord had always agreed on.
Regulus would not allow this abominable horror to continue.
Taking a deep breath he briefly closed his eyes before gathering himself. Opening them again, he surprisingly stared straight into mesmerizing green orbs.
Orbs that calmly and knowingly returned his gaze.
Interesting.
Lord Black had made his decision.
He only hoped that he would never have to regret it.
… he didn't.
" You are Harry Sirius Potter."
Serene green eyes blinked slowly up at him as he shrugged of the Disillusion charm.
Regulus had to admit – the child was beautiful. He hadn't really taken the time to admire him before, distracted by the petrifying horror shown through the detestable cruelty happening in this household, but he could do it now, and he had to admit to being absolutely mesmerized.
There was no question which genes the boy favoured.
Dorea Blacks genes were very prominent in her youngest grandchild. Where the older twin had taken his father's appearance safe for the mothers pushy red hair, the younger twin had skipped his parents and clearly engrossed his Black ancestry. Wild glossy black hair, Slytherin-green eyes, pale skin and a delicate built devastatingly combined with deceptively delicate features.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
And a blood-adoption would only refine them.
The child nodded silently in answer to his question.
There was something strange about the boy. His eyes didn't look merely serene or at ease; he seemed to very nearly be in a trance, a certain vacant sheen over his eyes, as if he only half of his mind was dwelling in this world.
As if he was seeing beyond the layer of reality opened to them.
Regulus felt a moment of satisfied anticipation and wild glee. Somehow, he just knew that he had chosen well.
"Do you wish to leave?"
A tiny nod.
" Are you willing to forsake your blood family and become my son?"
Green eyes sparkled amused and excited as a truly delighted giggle crossed the child's rosy lips delicately and a dainty pale hand slipped trustingly in his bigger hand, being nearly swallowed, before a breathy lilting voice answered him assuredly.
" Yes, please."
It wasn't as easy as that, naturally. Regulus knew that, was aware of the limitations and possible reservation he would encounter. He hadn't expected it to be in any way easy. But he also wasn't alone in this endeavour.
Regulus had brewed the Blood Adoption-potion as soon as he could, done the paperwork in advance to be send immediately into the ministry once the ritual had taken irreversibly and, after a few secretly called in favours, managed to make sure that after the approval had been given the papers would get accidently permanently lost, so that only the Goblins at Gringotts had duplicates and would be aware of their changed family status.
Sirius part was actually acquiring Hadrian, who had to wait anxiously for three days after their little conversation. Sadly, due to the Potters celebrity status and political cloud as parents of the Boy-Who-Lived, the child had to be taken in such a way that the Potters willingly and irrevocably gave up any blood claim they had on Hadrian, on their own son, and they had to do so in a manner Mother Magic accepted and blessing their new familiar bonds.
Now, all he could do was wait.
Suddenly, the fireplace roared in green flames and his older brother stepped unsteadily out, appearing even more haggard and hurried than before. Against his heaving chest, covering his front, he held a small clothed bundle, big enough to encase a malnourished toddler of four.
A tiny white hand reached out from within the bundle and patted his brother's sunken cheek.
" Pa'foo'?", came the lilting breathy voice of his future son.
Regulus moved swiftly through the room and helped his shaken brother to a sit, relieving him of the tiny boy while doing so.
He looked down at the sleepy child in his arms, eyes widening at seeing the boy so pale and weak he locked even more sickly than before, and back at the shocked Sirius who trembled terribly, looking like he had seen a malevolent ghost.
What the hell had happened?
" Siri?", he prodded gently, and quickly moved back as his older brother's head snapped up, grey eyes dark and dilated in exhaustion and suffocating rage.
" Reg ...", the others voice was raw and choked.
Regulus moved without thought and knelt before Sirius, looking attentively and comforting up. He would have taken Sirius hands into his own, tried to help grounding the enraged man, but he didn't dare to break up the white-knuckled fists the other had formed, biting into palms.
At least he drew no blood.
A small blessing.
" Reg ...", Sirius whispered again, even more urgently, tortured eyes seeking out the younger ones, brimming with unobstructed devastation. " Reggie … they – James – they … they d-disowned him."
" What?!"
Regulus was beyond shocked. No one on their right mind would disown such a young child. It was a dangerous move, so dangerous in fact that the shock of the renouncement could kill the child.
It was testament to the boy's magical core and general endurance that he was merely sleepy and sickly looking and not freaking dead!
Damn, Potter Senior was even more worthless than he had thought.
" Why?", Regulus demanded.
" I – I had just arrived to talk with James about giving me custody over Harry, and – and I just came in time to see him – to hear him disown Harry. I demanded to know the reason why he would do something so terrible and he said – he said he couldn't shame the Potter name by harbouring a dark wizard."
Dark wizard? The child's magic was impressively neutral.
Sirius licked his lips.
" Harry is a parselmouth."
… what?
How?
The last known parselmouth had been – The Dark Lord!
His Lord!
It was a trait exclusive to the Slytherin line … but the children were twins, and the older ones semblance to their parents was too uncanny to doubt his parentage.
Semblance …
Hadrian did resemble a Black to a question-raising degree.
… but the family tree would have shown if either of the brothers or another male relative had sired the child. No … the boys parentage was indeed unquestionable, and would remain as such even after Regulus adoption of Hadrian.
Amazing … another parselmouth.
Another riddle.
" Reggie ..."
Regulus returned his attention to his older brother who stared at the child in his arms, wriggling having freed the mob of hair and sweet little face. Sirius extended a hand and gently caressed the sleepy toddler's cheek.
" Harry is the sweetest child I know."
Regulus nodded in agreement.
Even if his experience was limited, he had to agree that Hadrian was a lot sweeter than either Nymphadora or Draconius.
" He is a parselmouth, and I always said parselmouths are evil, but – my godson is anything but evil, he is a precious gift, he is my life. So if I've been wrong about that, if I've misjudged so many people based on – on, well, prejudice", Sirius voice sounded so small and lost. " What have I also been wrong about? How many innocent lives have I made hell just … just because I was too narrow-minded to see that there's more than one truth and more than one side to every opinion?"
And wasn't that a loaded question?
They had been on different sides of the war and had different views. Regulus loved his older brother, but he also knew enough of abuse and the after effects of such a trauma to deduce successfully that their mother's violent treatment and their fathers wilful negligence of their eldest had left a catastrophic trauma on the man's psyche that had never been healed, only subdued with time. Sirius had been very young when he had taken to despise everything his family stood for, in an attempt to spite his mother and distance himself from the horrors of his childhood.
He had desperately searched for salvation.
Salvation which he found in one eleven year old James Charlus Potter, son of Lord Charlus Potter and his Wwife Dorea Potter nee Black. He had seen a boy his age who was loved, protected and cared of by his family, a boy also of Black descend.
They hit it off like a house on fire.
But it only distanced Sirius from his family all the more.
Getting sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius started associating good and right with light and evil and wrong with dark. His world had been black-and-white for so long. To be forced to question the very ideals his mind and heart had been rooted into – the strain and stress were obvious on his haggard form.
" Pa'foo'?"
They both looked down at the small child that stared sternly at Regulus older brother.
Sirius smiled gently and leaned down.
Only to get slapped on the nose – like a misbehaving dog.
Regulus blinked and roared with laughter as his brother stared stunned at the toddler and rubbed his sorely smarting nose.
" In war, both sides are wrong. And both sides are right. War is about conviction. It is ugly. There are never true victors, because both sides have already lost when they entered such a conflict."
Abruptly, Regulus joined his brother in staring stunned at that stern little face.
The hell …?
Eyes, too old and too pained and too knowledgeable calmly stared back. No, this child was not normal by any stretch of that word. Not normal in the least.
Even ignoring the marvellous wisdom of that statement, the calm fashion and immaculate articulation were not mannerisms a toddler should be able to project.
And honestly, despite the unknown ramification that conclusion presented, Regulus was just so curious to solve the riddle he had been gifted.
" Our smart little boy is right", he agreed, and looked at his brother earnestly. " In war, no one is right or wrong. We merely fought for our beliefs, no matter which those are. And yes, we ended on different sides, but we were and are still family. What matters now is what you intend do to with this revelation of yours."
Sirius was silent before he slowly and deliberately answered: " From the moment the twins were born, I felt connected to Harry. He became my light, my son in everything but blood. I always cared for his brother, but Harry … Harry I loved so deeply, it sometimes scares me. I made mistakes that I will never be able to atone for, mistakes he should hold me accountable for, but I'll try to make it right. And I'll do what I believe to be the right thing, no matter what others say. My loyalty lies with Harry … and my family. I'll never let him or you go."
Sirius looked up.
He looked crushed but determined.
" I missed you Reggie. I made a horrible terrible cruel mistake in letting prejudice cloud my love for my little brother, but no more. You will have to get used to me, because I'm sure as hell not letting either of you go ever again."
Regulus smiled slightly shakily.
Huh.
This … this was the brother he had missed.
This was the man he always knew his older brother could be. Putting the child's needs above his own as a finally maturing man who after having been dealt a harsh hand of reality sought objective answers and set his priorities remorselessly straight, unafraid to take the more difficult road to be able to look at himself in the mirror.
" Then you will be his godfather again, Uncle 'Pa'foo'?", Regulus half-teased, half-asked.
Sirius snorted inelegantly.
" Try choosing anyone but me, Reggie, and I'll cook a three course meal and force-feed you", Sirius threatened grinning.
Regulus shuddered – cooking and Sirius in the same sentence were nightmare-inducing.
In the literal sense. After ten years, he still had nightmares!
… harmless water burning bright violet … fossilized blue meat glowing ominously when light directly hit it… elastic orange soup trying to escape the bowl … talking pink cake that bubbled … Nightmares!
Regulus shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear it off the disturbing memories before he handed Hadrian over to Sirius, stood up and threw Floo powder into the fireplace. Kneeling, he called Malfoy Manor and instructed the dopey-looking house elf that appeared to inform the Lady Malfoy post-haste that Lord Black asked for her presence.
It was time.
Leaving the fireplace as immaculate as he entered, he turned around to see Hadrian and Sirius cuddling up to each other.
" Sirius, your ceremonial robes are in your room. Go change, we will start the ritual as soon as Hadrian's future godmother is here. You will find us in the ritual chamber."
Sirius nodded, gave Hadrian a lingering and reassuring kiss on the forehead and went to dress up for the occasion.
Left alone with the child, he picked the black-haired boy up and settled him securely on his hip. A contend smile stole itself on his lips as the tiny face burrowed deeply into his side and thin arms tried to sneak around his middle, only to settle with a pout for pale fists to hold tightly to his robe.
He really could get used to this.
The fireplace flare green once more and out of it stepped one of the most formidable woman he ever had the great pleasure of knowing. A woman who had the deceptive smarts to keep up with her breathtaking appearance.
A true-blooded Black woman.
" Narzissa."
" Regulus."
She came over to him, her elegant white ceremonial robes moving like flowing water with every step she took. Once near enough, they gave each other the traditional greeting; a lofty kiss on each cheek. Then, she leaned down and looked carefully at the half-hidden child on his hip before smiling gently.
Slytherin-green eyes meet her light-grey gaze unflinchingly.
" Hello little Hadrian", she introduced herself softly. " I'm your Aunty Cissy. I will always be there for you. Pinky-promise."
Rosy pouty lips slowly spread into a delighted smile.
The two of them crooked their pinkies together; a sweet promise, meaning so much more to an abandoned child.
Narzissa and Regulus shared a happy look at the sweet giggle that sounded freely in the room.
One step closer to family.
The enormous, perfectly chiselled ritual chamber was dimly lit with the glow of seven white candles.
Regulus and Hadrian stood in the middle of a runic chalk circle drawn at the black marble floor, a delicate goblet of gold between them. A red potion simmered forebodingly within, spitting golden sparks then and again.
They were both dressed in simple, white, ceremonial robe.
Narzissa and Sirius, similarly attired, stood left and right to them, forming the four focal points; North, East, South and West, or Earth, Wind, Fire and Water.
The candles flickered in an invisible breeze.
Every sound seemed to be sucked out of the chamber.
Regulus slowly but steadily began to intone the ancient words, his voice deeper and more forceful than before, strengthened considerably by his magic. The arcane Latin words rolled fluently over his tongue, cool and hot and light and heavy like nothing he had ever felt before, as he solemnly swore before the entities of magic, life and death alike to love, cherish and protect this child, to provide and care for him as his own flesh and blood. He felt the magic take hold of him, felt how they twisted his inert power and entwined it with the child's own. His eyes nearly rolled back as he felt the obliterating rush of magnificent intoxicating magic, deliciously fresh and potent flooding through his body. He could barely breath in ecstasy.
Wrought with tremors of bliss, He used the ritual dagger to cut both himself and Hadrian on their palms and let exactly three drops of blood enter the bubbling potion. The colour changed instantly, turning reddish-gold, and Regulus held the goblet gingerly while Narzissa and Sirius swore their oaths as godparents and let their magic free to commence and acknowledge the binding promise taking place. Golden strands of magic formed comfortingly and bound the two adults and the child in an unbreakable pledge that could not be renounced by mere mortal means.
The oath was sealed.
Lifting the goblet up, he helped Hadrian to drink it. The child grimaced at the taste, but didn't complain.
Remarkable.
It took only a few moments before pain started to mare those noble features and as they had anticipated blissful oblivion took the boys consciousness, leaving him to escape the pain of his body and magic adapting to the new and awakening blood in his morphing body. He slumped completely out of it into his new father's waiting arms and slowly started to convulse. A gentle golden sheen settled over the tiny form while the boy changed before their eyes.
Now it would show how good he took to the Black Blood.
Regulus, Sirius and Narzissa watched with baited breath and rapped attention as Harry Sirius Potter disappeared forever before their very eyes, simply ceasing to exist, and from his remains Hadrian Regulus Black emerged like a brightly burning star.
His black hair gained a bluish tint and grew to settle into slightly wild waves falling to his prominent collarbone. Fragile bones and delicate feature became even finer and more ethereal; his pale skin turned to a precious shade of porcelain complementing daringly his darkening lips. The changes were enhancements of his already apparent appearance, but nevertheless they seemed to transform his whole being.
He looked simply amazing.
No one could deny that he was indeed Lord Regulus Arcturus Blacks son. The resemblance was mind-blowingly uncanny now. It was like looking into his own face seventeen years ago, only a more effeminate version.
The golden sheen disappeared as soon as the pained grimace vanished from the child's face, leaving an exhaustingly sleeping Hadrian behind. Regulus gently hoisted his son up.
Awe spread through him and a blinding smile lit up his face at the thought a realisation sunk in and he stopped still for a moment, tasting the words soundlessly on his tongue.
His son.
His Hadrian.
Unbelievable.
He hadn't really wanted a child, had reasoned that he was only performing his duty and responsibility as Lord Black to a child of his line that was in need, adhering to his brothers wishes to keep the peace of their own bond and preventing a helpless child from abuse that would destroy an innocent life, but those feelings … knowing the boy was his own flesh and blood now, his to love, his to cherish, to protect and guide, his …
He ignored his families knowing glances and gently cradled his son against his chest, feeling the glow in his heart, a heart he had thought to be shrivelled up long ago. It felt so warm, so … right.
This … this was the best decision he had ever made.
And he would not give him up.
His son.
His Hadrian.
Some believe in prophecy.
Some believe in destiny.
In this very moment, destiny intervened and a prophecy shattered.
With one act of kindness, born from obligation, personal opinion and curiosity, the House of Black had unknowingly chosen to rise to the top of their world, while the House of Potter had irrevocably lost their unrecognised hope and started their descend into shame, scandal and shunning.
One little emerald-eyed boy only smiled warmly against the chest of his new father.
Destiny had taught him despair, and destiny was now repaying him with love. Balance always had to be maintained, this was the lesson he had first learned, sides had been chosen and the wheel of time had started turning without consideration for the delicacies of old meddling man and pretentious abusive non-parents.
Unknowingly, the war had been decided the moment a silver-golden potion touched petal-like lips.
Hadrian, for the first time in his life, felt truly at peace.
After years of despair, of enduring knowing it was his destiny, he was finally where he belonged.
He was home.
~ The End. TBC in 'Destined Deliverance. ~