Destined Deliverance

by AutumnsFey

'Prequel to Destined Downfall/Sequel to Destined Despair.' Hadrian Black loved his family. He lovds them with all the fierceness and madness of his Black Blood. Burdened and blessed with gifted purpose, he will do everything to make his family flourish. This is his life, his gift and the deliverance of destiny's promise to the Dark Lord - his resurrection at the Hands of his equal.

Carnelian Red.

Horizon. Bloody.

A massacre, screams. Death awaits. War. A final battle. Trusted ground, soaked in children's blood. Innocents slaughtered. Cruelty … becomes necessity.

Tawny Orange.

The sky ablaze. Smoke rising. Raids, torturing, killing. Disgusting. A beginning. Failing, rising, winning. Repeat. A path paved with corpses. Hopelessness reigns.

Chartreuse Yellow.

Betrayal. Unforgivables.

Three become four. Four return to three. An act of greed, unforgivable in its blasphemy. Truths are spoken. Sides are chosen. The tides are turning. The world awakes.

Forest Green.

Slytherin. Pride.

One disliked by three. Four broken by fear. Traditions twisted, children prosecuted. Pride swallows sense, grief colours the mind. Blood a hold in times were nothing stays true.

Midnight Blue

Violence. Sins.

Alcohol liberally abused, sex frivolously used. Sorrows numbed, grief succumbed. Responsibilities ignored. Skeletons rising, dancing macabre in the howling blue moon. Doors rattling in warning. Times running out.

Mulberry Violet.

Prophecy. Shards.

Words spoken broken beyond repair. Proof shattered, eyes shuttered. Only memory remains, held in hands unsafe. One child elated, another exasperated.

Stark White.

Goat. Manipulations.

The days of glory long since gone. Shaky hold slipping out of control. The shadows of a past shrouded in mistakes come alive. Sister and Brother screaming at night. A chess board set alight.

Inky Black.

Love. Home.

Change is coming. Revolution beckoning. Darkness set free, ruling supremely. Saving devils, creating angels. Hell and heaven met. Decisions long to come, outcomes foregone.

… Destiny smiles.

Slytherin green eyes. Avada Kedavra green eyes. Blinking.

Past. Present. Future.

Set.

The tinted brush continued to stroke over the empty canvas.

Images flew, coming alive. Guidance. Reassurance.

The seer has shown.

Ten years.

One decade.

Halloween calls.

Hadrian Regulus Black sometimes remembered a time when he was called Harry Sirius Potter. Sometimes, when the night was too dark for even the moon to conquer and he stared sleeplessly at the ceiling above his bed, he remembered having a father, a mother and an older twin brother. He remembered pain, pain, pain … and waiting, patiently.

For Regulus.

For his chosen father.

The wait was long. Long and brutal. It was a horrible time that tested his endurance, tolerance, patience, trust and sense of self. Being raised for three of his first four years on this earth as a combination of worthless mindless slave and belittled useless whipping boy gave him a descent amount of humbleness and modesty as well as the thankless ability to be grateful.

And he was so very grateful to be gone from that hateful house.

For a house is not a home, and home is dictated by the heart. And his heart … felt apathy for them.

Could he have done without the abuse, neglect and abandonment? Yes. Would he change anything, would he save himself earlier, if it meant never becoming a part of his new family? No. The pain was definitely worth it. Even if Hadrian knew that no one in his family agreed.

They would book him a mind healer without second thought should he even show the tiniest indication of simply accepting his past. He … did understand them.

After all this years, Uncle Siri still felt so damn guilty that he would regularly grovel for Hadrian's never even needed forgiveness and try to desperately make up for his obliviousness and the mistakes of his youth. Aunt Cissy became all still and coldly furious when the topic was accidentally broached, a queen of ice making even the grandest of men cower in the face of her chilling scorn. Uncle Lucius needed a drink and started swearing bloody vengeance, planning and plotting certain peoples gratifying torture and death. Draco, brought into the Know very early on, began to rant like there was no tomorrow only to slip into Hadrian's bed on those nights and cuddle with him. The less said about the Lestrange trio's reactions, the better. It wasn't any definition of pretty. And his father … his beloved warm father always embraced him tightly and never let go of him, reassuring him through his mere presence more than any words ever could that nothing would come between them.

They were family.

Home. Safety. Stability.

Before he could talk or walk, before he even had the mental capacity to retain and name things properly, he only knew and recognized one face with absolute certainty: his father's. Even when James Potter's blood had vulgarly coursed through his tiny helpless body, the one he had named father in his mind, heart and soul had been Regulus Black. The face of a man he had never seen before calming him when he lay in his soiled diapers, ignored and sore, hungry and cold because his spoiled smug twin apparently needed the blankets more than he did, and a melodious voice whispering into his tiny ear that this was his father, his papa, the one destiny had benevolently chosen for him, not the mean hurting one, and that such a great man like his papa would rescue and love Harry after he had endured the painful price balance demanded as compensation for the bright and happy future he had before him.

Hadrian had loved and trusted his father since he could think, and those feelings had only solidified during his childhood.

It truly hurt him to see his level-headed father still so incensed on his dainty son's behalf, even after all this time had gone by. But Hadrian also knew that this rage the man felt would never wan completely, not even when the name Potter finally ceased to exist and was black-marked in the annals of history and time.

No, they would rage, the Black Blood too demanding for anything else. The Black Family would never let the crimes of their heir's birth family lie down and be forgotten. Let Bygones be Bygones? Not as long as the Black Blood existed. Not as long as Regulus Black still so vividly remembered the torture of his child he was forced to witness seven years ago, not as long as Sirius was still searching for a redemption he would never be granted, and not as long as Hadrian still bore their silvery marks upon his fair skin, betraying scars never to fade completely.

Scars bearing testament and witness to his first families weakness and Hadrian's own strength.

The Potters taught him humility and humiliation; they taught him to accept the cruelty and pain heaped upon him, the hopelessness and loneliness he was subjected to. They taught him how to swallow the cold without choking to death. They taught him the meaning of despair.

Hadrian felt nothing for his former blood relatives; actually, he never had positive leanings to them, but even the bad ones he logically knew he should carry would extort a level of effort he just hadn't in him to offer for them.

Besides the insults, slurs, denouncing names, hateful comments, kicks, slaps and whip lashes, they gave him endurance.

Endurance to master his visions and remain sane even in the face of all-consuming despair and anguish. It was an expensive lesson that in years to come would save whatever little sanity he had to begin with from the finality of the Other's crippling visions and voices. And no matter how wrong that was, for this fact alone he would not actively seek their annihilation.

He was a Black now.

In time, they would get their due.

Growing up Black otherwise …

… was certainly an experience way too incredible for mere words.

It went beyond his deepest darkest dreams and desires.

Well beyond.

His beloved godfather, the man who had never forgotten or ignored him, also became his blood-related uncle; he gained a spectacularly unique and extraordinarily entertaining extended family composed of insane and formidable aunts, proper and dangerous uncles as well as absolutely batshit-crazy cousins. But above all of this, he had a father, a true destiny-chosen father who was not only naturally obligated but had freely vowed before Magic, Life and Death to always cherish, love and protect him, with the unbending pride and blazing ferocity of a true Slytherin-minded Black hell-bent on getting his will, and may have Mother Magic mercy on the poor fools souls if they dared nay-saying Regulus Blacks will; only the suicidal ones suffered the idiotic belief that merely Black Women were trenched in the furious notorious Black Madness.

Fools, indeed.

The Black Family was legendary for their all-consuming razing madness.

All. Of. Them.

Hadrian welcomed it. Eccentric wasn't that much of a novel concept for him; he was certainly not the encyclopaedia description for ordinary, sane or tame. having always been gifted with a connection to magic and destiny that had others keeping their distance, instinctively fearing his very being, isolating and shunning him.

Pathetic.

He couldn't bring up the effort to care for those sheep.

And he readily welcomed the insanity that was the Black family into his life.

Because for the first time in his still so short life, Hadrian Regulus Black, age four then and eleven now, had a family. And he would not only sell his soul to the devil without the slightest hesitation but burn the world to less than crumbling cinder if it meant keeping them safe. He may be a traditionally calm child, seemingly apathetic and absent-minded, but after the Blood-Adoption he was a Black in mind, magic, soul, heart and body, and Blacks never truly bowed to anyone, be it light, dark or neutral.

They allied themselves.

They supported promising entities.

But they neither bowed nor grovelled.

A smirk lit up his face as he read 'Darkest Magicks Most Evile'. Not even the red-eyed man had made Hadrian's father, aunts and uncles bow down. They followed the Dark Lord, revelled in the potent Dark Magic he so carelessly and pleasantly generously radiated, but they never kissed the hem of his robes. No, the Dark Lord had to fight fiercely and dirty to gain the current Black Generations respect and support. He nearly snorted in the old tome, bemusedly remembering snippets of hushed-up conversations he had overheard before his adoption, the gleeful disgust and arrogant demeaning of his family, how they were nothing but boot-lickers and cowardly trash.

As if.

Aunty Bellatrix, for example, was just extremely magic-sensitive and the Dark Lord freaking powerful, so yes, she tried seducing him to taste more of his deliciously addictive flavour, but she would never betray uncle Rudolphus. Why should she? It was an open secret that the Lestrange Lord and his darling wife enjoyed sharing their conquest, even going as far as inviting Uncle Rabastan, Uncle Rudolphus younger brother, into their chambers. They were neither ashamed nor ostracized for their obvious and aggressive approach in trying to bed their Lord.

Hadrian found it exceedingly amusing.

He knew exactly who the Dark Lord would choose as consort … and he also knew that it would be the Dark Lord himself who would ask for the eternal vows, declaring his definite intent to stay faithful to his chosen love.

Uncle Lucius on the other hand was completely taken with his Lord's political mind, ambitions and strategic progress. He had, during Draco's and Hadrian's politic lessons, often and in detail explained that before he delved into the most forbidden aspects of soul magic, the Dark Lord had been a man without equal, nearly ridiculously handsome, powerful and inventive. A traditional leaning, viciously dark visionary.

Exactly what the Dark desired.

Their Lords disappearance, for none believed in his death at Hadrian's former twin brother's hands, had been a mighty blow that had thrown the Dark faction and their supporters back for years, but now, nearly a decade later, the Olde Families had finally gained back their power and respectability.

It actually helped that Dumbledore's and the Potter's arrogant and self-righteous attitude had created quite the discord not only between the Light and Grey fractions but also within the Light faction itself. Niggling doubts were blooming, hastily hushed whispers traded in darkened back rooms. The tides were changing rapidly.

The Blacks rejoiced behind closed doors.

Hadrian meanwhile had grown into a powerful if strange pre-adolescent. He was intelligent, more beautiful than handsome, and had an intuitive grasp of magic that left his teachers stumped. Raised in a predominantly male household by his father, Uncle Siri and the occasional bored-out-of-their-mind relative he had been subjected to a lot of different and intensively grand personalities. Even though he was his father's heir, he actually behaved more like a future consort. Purposefully. His father should have taken him to task over it, impressed the serious responsibilities of the Black Lordship upon him, but he stayed silent and supportive. It could be reasoned with the fact that Hadrian was a known carrier and keeping his options open, but Regulus Black didn't care one wit for what others speculated his reasons to be. Lord Black had always been able to tell when his son acted out of a divine knowledge hidden within that ingenious mind. It was one of the reasons he had resigned himself early on that his son would become a consort, not a Lord, and that he should instead prepare to threaten his future son-in-law.

He would do anything to make his son happy.

Because to contradict Hadrian was to temper destiny.

No one was so foolish.

Besides excelling in his magical and mundane studies, especially history, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, he had finally found an outlet in which to express the pictures and whispers which were tainting and tormenting and guiding his mind with a future set in stone: Art.

Not only did he have a devastating talent to create beauty from nothing but his mind's eye with just a few strokes of a paintbrush or intuitive lines of a pencil, he had found out that the moment he surrendered to the Others, as he called those entities impacting their wisdom upon him, and let himself sink into his pre-dominations, the brush or pencil or coal in his hand came alive and recreated the core of his visions. He had been a lot calmer and more focused since that miraculous discovery.

His father was proud of him.

Hadrian was blooming under the lavishing pride and love he was bathed in.

Besides, being raised as an heir made him rather mature. The responsibility of knowing beforehand which way Justitia's scale fell even more so. And Hadrian was willing to do everything so his family came not only out of this facade called war whole and healthy, but on top, like they deserved. Because as much as they sometimes … most of the time bickered and fought, they were Blacks, and they never surrendered under someone else's influence.

They were the ones raising hell, and they always took care of their own.

This was the Black Way.

Toujours Pur.

Basalt Grey.

Shadows.

Whispers.

Rumours.

Darkening.

Graphite Black.

… beautiful petal-like lips stretched into a satisfied sardonic smile.

September 1st 1991 arrived and with it came a wave of anticipation.

No one in that embarrassingly unworthy school knew that Hadrian Black had once been Harry Potter, and Hadrian preferred to keep it like that. He was sure that neither his birth parents nor his brother or the white goat-fucker even remembered the little detail that he had been born.

He saw no reason to change that.

His father and Uncle Siri had a horrible argument over Hadrian attending Hogwarts.

It was dangerous. He could be discovered. The Potter's could try to take his father to court – they would naturally lose, but it didn't matter. The damage to the Black name and Hadrian's psyche would have been done.

Uncle Siri was adamant that the Potter's didn't even knew who had taken Hadrian in, not that they had cared to begin with; Sirius had obliviated his presence from their minds and let it look as if Harry had ungratefully run away. Knowing their youngest twin as little as they did, they bought it hook, line and sinker. Their spat lasted for two whole days and actually included screeching, yelling, curses, hexes, fists and a lot of spittle flying.

Hadrian, annoyed, called his godmother.

It ended with Aunty Cissy literally walloping the Black Brothers and the tentative agreement that Hadrian would be allowed to study in the old school as long as he would be careful, stick to his older cousin and his father had the option to wait out the first year for his final decision if he should permit Hadrian to remain a Hogwarts student for the following six years or not.

The boy in question only rolled his eyes, aggravated.

Sometimes his family was so fucking dense.

If they just had asked him, he would have quite succinctly told them that he was only meant to study one year at Hogwarts, simply to achieve a goal none of them had any kind of indication he pursued.

If only that little word 'if' wasn't there …

Still, Hadrian got ready for Hogwarts, acquiring his school supplies and Hedwig, the snowy owl, dutifully waiting in Eyelops Owl Imperium for him to purchase her. He had nearly cackled in glee at the stunned shopkeeper, the old man ruthlessly subjected to his lovely companion's chilly haunting stare. A trueborn and true-breed queen. Another … expected turn was the purchasing of the Dark Lords brother wand. He smirked at Ollivander's pale face, internally happy that neither father nor uncle was with him, having left them for business in Gringotts. He would have hated to spoil their future fun.

That would be such a waste …

A quick wandless Obliviate left Ollivander just as conveniently clueless as before.

Hadrian sighed and closed his eyes, tiredly leaning against his taller cousin's shoulder as the red steam train continued onwards into the Scottish Highs. The white-blond boy tugged him deeper in and the Black Heir cuddled obediently up to his older cousin, thankful for the warmth and the encompassing feeling of belonging family.

He really loved his family.

Deeply.

Slytherin-green eyes stared through the guests, fixated eerily on nothing this realm could offer.

The whispers had become stronger, louder. What had often been an enticing mess of delirious mutterings had matured beautifully in a complexly layered song, thin and rich and loud and quiet came genderless whisperings composing a delightful picture that laid like a ghostly apparition over the present, exposing a future that couldn't be changed.

Hadrian experienced the presents, but when the Others called he was bound to listen. Draco still found his empty stare strange and had taken to gently guiding his little cousin until the vacantness left his gaze and his consciousness was mostly back.

It had been especially difficult at Hogwarts.

As expected, Draco and Hadrian had been sorted into Slytherin. Hadrian kept to himself, allowing his cousin to rise to the top of their year group while preferring the shadows himself, interacting mostly with Draco and sometimes with a select few other Slytherin's his father had cleared like Zabini, Nott and Greengrass. No one questioned his identity, though some expressed their pleased surprise at a legitimate Black Heir.

There had been some realistic concern that uncle Siri would have an illegitimate child who would be forced to inherit …

Being one of the silent and generally non-confrontational snakes allowed him to observe and learn during and after lessons. He was the best in class ratings, inviting the malicious ire of the Granger know-it-all, who had taken to trying and showing him up, only to end up getting reprimanded while he was praised. In other houses, particularly Gryffindor, he would have been ostracised and bullied mercilessly for his flawless and inventive magical process, in Slytherin he joined his year mates in study sessions and tutored them when asked, while simultaneously furthering his personal studies and allowing his fellow Slytherin's to shine on their own without coming of as arrogant. His former twin, pathetically arrogant Gryffindor that he was, had taken exception and started to ruthlessly bully Hadrian, only to back off once Draco, incensed beyond reasoning by his little cousins silent 'suffering', had soundly trashed him in a Wizarding Duel at Midnight. The Boy-Who-Lived retaliated by buying his way onto his Quidditch House Team and gloating for all to hear, particularly the Prince of Slytherin. Only Hadrian's dainty hand on Draco's arm calmed his cousin's furious temper. In the end, it didn't matter at all, because even with eight brand-new Nimbus 2000, Potter Junior lost Gryffindor the game and made more than a few eternal enemies in his own house for handing Slytherin the victory on a silver tray, with evergreen bow on top.

Tut tut. Fame clearly wasn't everything.

But it certainly was the only extraordinary aspect of his former twin.

Hadrian meanwhile maintained his academicals top spot and brought a refreshingly positive attention to the Houses of Black and Slytherin, from fellow students and the thrilled staff alike.

During Samhain, Hadrian had left the Halloween feast early. He was an unrepentant pagan and follower of the Olde Ways, praying and praising the Dark Goddess Hecate. He had planned on making his sacred offerings to her and thanking his ancestors in the solitude of his dorm room, honouring the Great Mother for her blessings, but that was shot to hell once he found the Mountain Troll cornering the Granger the annoying Bookworm.

How embarrassing. He had forgotten the date of this event.

Still in the shadows he stunned the girl and showed himself to the creature. The confused troll stared at him. Hadrian had only smiled and unleashed his tightly coiled aura. The troll had become docile after just one taste, drunk on the potent darkness, and, after waiting for Hadrian to transfigure a perfectly animated replica of the creature and manipulate Granger's memories, had timidly allowed the green-eyed boy to lead him to the Forbidden Forest, soaking up the intoxicatingly Dark Aura of the Black Heir.

One life saved from the lights prejudice.

As planned, the golden trio still formed in the aftermath of two tactless boys rescuing an annoying little shit. Really, they deserved each other so so much, the precious Boy-Who-Lived, his weasel-sidekick and the oh-so-misunderstood extra-aggravatingly muggleborn-know-it-all.

Hadrian only smiled. With teeth.

Disgusting.

Nevertheless, everything ended up going according to plan. The only flaw was that nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him how much his lord was still suffering in his wraith form. That he could have done more.

It was partially right, he knew, but ...

But if he had allowed the Dark Lord to succeed in his resurrection before the time was right and everything at the necessary place, it would have cost the man more than just his gorgeous appearance and brilliant mind – it would have savaged and devoured the Dark Magic cursing so sweetly through the man's veins, rendering him a worthless squib. Less than that, even. A hideous homunculus. The wait would be difficult, for all involved, but Hadrian knew what and when to rectify that matter to everyone's satisfaction.

And he had already gotten his hands on the most important ingredient. I was actually pathetically easy if one knew where the Mirror of Erised would be until shortly after Yule.

Ingenious little trick, that mirror, but Hadrian was just a titbit more creative. He didn't want the treasure within for selfish reasons and so he had acquired it effortlessly. He wouldn't take it back with him to Hogwarts, already knowing where to hide it until the time was just right.

Shaking his head lightly to banish the memories and thoughts of the fall term, Hadrian focused on the approaching pale blond boy. He giggled delighted as his taller cousin kissed the back of his hand properly and asked pompously for a dance. Acquiescing with a regal nod, Draco smirked smugly as he guided the dark-haired dainty beauty on the dance floor.

Hadrian truly enjoyed the Malfoy Yule Ball.

It was always a treat for all senses.

Behind warded doors, Darkness brewed.

Planning.

Plotting.

Scheming.

Betraying.

Whispers flooded through the Dark faction. Whispers of sightings, whispers of suspicious behaviour and incidents.

And always, always the same focus.

The Dark Lord.

Alive.

Hiding.

Waiting.

Bidding.

Only rumours, but rumours that made complacent wizards and witches sit up straight and take notice.

Resigned eyes sharpened.

Silenced mouths smirked.

Wards were adjusted.

Questionable artefacts collected.

The Dark had chosen to prepare.

Anticipation.

Burning Anticipation.

It had started. The seeds were sown. Now, the reaper just had to return. It was nearly time.

He smiled serenely, foreboding curling in his veins and covetousness blazing through his mind.

There had never been a question, never a festering of doubt.

The Dark Lord was about to return.

And the loyal Dark Side waited, ready, willing, greedy, with baited breath.

Yule went and the spring term started.

Granger was ballistic at the midterm scores. Against her widely known and belittled belief that she had finally bested the obviously cheating Black Heir, she hadn't even come second. To everyone's amusement and no one's surprise. Instead, following Hadrian's outstanding top spot were in chronological order the Ravenclaw Su Li, Susan Bones from Hufflepuff and Anthony Goldstein, Ravenclaw again. Coming in as a mocking fifth in their class rating had caused Mount Know-it-all to grandly spill in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast, letting loose such a spectacularly hateful, self-righteous and arrogantly insulting tirade that even her normally quick-to-task head of house had been speechless and ashamed upon such a display. Professor McGonagall had been so disgusted that the teacher's pet got her first real detention and fifty points distracted. As entertaining as it had been, Hadrian could have done without the sight of the fuzzy buck-teethed bookworm bursting into angry tears and running snootily out, screeching like one of the legendary Weasel Matriarch Howlers.

The term continued at least for most students and staff relatively harmonic after that … humorous display.

Personally, Hadrian derived great pleasure from watching the so-called Golden Trio try and ultimately fail to discern the secret of the banned third floor. What made it even more enjoyable was the fact that not even the goat-fucker knew that the treasure was indeed very well hidden … just not where the fool himself had done so.

The old man's obstacle course and cleverly masked hints for the reckless Gryffindors were for naught.

… this anonymity he enjoyed was quite handy, no one ever suspected him of anything, seeing as they all believed him to be a polite tamed little snakeling without either poison or fangs.

Assumptions, assumptions ...

Oh, well.

More importantly was the fact that his magic was maturing as foretold and the Others had agreed that once he finished his first year, he wouldn't need to return to Hogwarts, his core already settled. He had indeed noticed the increase of Magical Beings and Creatures in and around Hogwarts that seemed to flock to him, enthralled by the visible wisps of Dark Magic escaping his tightly suppressed aura continuously. The sweet powerful aroma acted like a drug, so highly addictive and seducing that he welcomed whoever asked for his blessings.

He was coming into his own remarkably well.

And at the most opportune time imaginable.

In a different life, the Dark Lord would have failed to claim Dumbledore's little treasure and been forced to flee into the forest of Albania, barely bearing his existence as a powerless wraith, frantically creating another Horcrux out of a magical snake he would call Nagini to defend himself. He would have waited until early summer 1995 just to regain a hideous crippled form so twisted by the missing soul pieces that it was embarrassingly weak and fragile.

That Dark Lord would have been an insane megalomaniacal mass murderer without the smallest hint of his previous wit about him.

He would have made the Blacks grovel. He would have made Uncle Lucius lick his boots like a lowly worthless slave and forced his beloved cousin Draco into slave-service, too, destroying whatever oblivious innocence and respect for his father his cousin could have retained. There was no hint of the genius head boy whose revolutionary vision and magical charisma invited even the stiffest purebloods to follow him out of their own free will, ignoring even his less than stellar blood.

He would have meant the Death of the Black House.

Of Hadrian's Family.

In a different life he himself had been born an only child. In a different world Harry James Potter grew up under Petunia and Vernon Dursley's roof and was the perfect malleable golden weapon, just a brainless follower with too much pressure on his shoulders and a carefully groomed hero-complex, conditioned to never asked questions and leap recklessly into the fray, always feeling guilty and willing to sacrifice himself … for the Greater Good.

As if Hadrian would allow that.

He was a Black, and Black's never grovelled or were reckless … well, Uncle Siri was reckless, but he didn't count in this instant. He was a freaking Gryffindor. They mostly pea-sized brains were just to differently wired to comprehend.

Black's made other's grovel. Anything else was completely …

… unacceptable.

No. In this life, Hadrian Black was raised as the Scion of a Most Ancient and Most Noble House. He was raised to always stand above the crowd. And he would.

Just not in the way anybody believed.

Already, the enthralled Beings had willingly gifted him with the necessary components he needed to successfully accomplish the forbidden ritual. The rest of the ingredients he had secretly purchased or persuaded his family into acquiring. He only needed to work out a few more fine details in the oral wording, which seeing as it was Ancient Greek was a bitch, and wait for Beltane to come knocking around. The influx of fruitful and renewing power would support the ritual and ensure that the Dark Lord returned as the same handsome evil mastermind he had been in his youth.

Hadrian was giddy with anticipation.

… how strange.

Crimson.

Mars. Dismay. Revenge.

Dusky Pink.

Fragility. A budding love. Surprising gentleness.

Mint Green.

Envy. Greed. Death.

Jet Black.

Poison. Secrets. Possessiveness.

Pale dainty fingers brushed over rose-coloured petal-like lips, painting them deep dark red. A drop escaped and landed on the corner of those kissable lips. A small pink tongue darted out and licked the red tear away.

Snake blood.

Delightful.

Hogwarts had let out earlier due to the unfortunate and untimely murder of one Professor Quirinus Quirrel due to the man's magic turning on him courtesy of an obscure spell applied to the back of his head. The assailant hadn't been found and the school was deemed too unsafe to continue the year without a proper investigation having taken place.

They were send back home just before May started, their grades ascertained through the midterm results and the last four months of school performance.

Grangers purpling face when it was announced that Hadrian broke the top score records for their year – priceless.

His magic and core had settled satisfyingly, bewitchingly powerful and dark. And tightly suppressed.

The ingredients were gathered. The wording had been perfected.

It was time to resurrect the Dark Lord. Their foretold saviour.

Destiny had made a promise …

… and Hadrian would make sure that it was delivered.

Beltane.

The first day of summer.

The start of the new Celtic Year.

A time to celebrate the sacred Espousal of Gods, of Heaven and Earth, of King and Queen, of the rulers and their connection to their beloved land, the earth and their people.

A time of wonder, of renewal, of victory over the dire dangers of winter and gratitude for another year to come. It is a celebration of new life, fire, passion and rebirth.

A time in which to honour the fertile union of The Goddess and The Green Man.

The time to renew life.

For the first time in nearly eleven years, the Dark dared to meet to celebrate their Goddess, to revel freely in their traditions and their religion.

For the first time since it was banned following the First Blood War, the Dark dared to show their pride and gratefulness at the honour of being blessed with the sacred gift of their Lady's magic.

The Black Lord had called for a Beltane feast, and the Dark had eagerly answered, desperate to worship their connection to the Dark Mother.

Muggles simply celebrated the reunion of heaven and earth, of all that made them, during the festival the called First of May. Magicals, while celebrating the two primordial forces fertile union as well, also praised and prayed to the Dark Mother Hecate, she who walks between life and death, the godly source of all magic and the bright fire. It was an opportunity to connect with her, with their magic and innermost core. To feel whole again. Complete.

For this, for expressing their unyielding gratitude, they celebrated Beltane, one of the four sacred days in the Celtic Year the Olde Ways called for.

And the Blacks had always upheld tradition.

From all around the country, wizards, witches and sentient Beings appeared. Some filled with dark anticipation, some with weary curiosity, some with a relieved sense of gratitude and some with the desperate bone-deep plea on their lips to belong again. Black, white, female, male, adult, child, human, non-human, poor, rich, traditional, new-blood, dark, neutral and disillusioned no-ones. None of that mattered to them. It didn't matter if they were muggleborn, half-blood or pureblood.

They were magic.

And so they gathered.

The Black Summer Residence in Wales was the chosen celebrating ground, a vast bountiful land blessed with flowers, trees, rivers, springs and overlapping ley lines. The Manor, a smooth white marble building of pure elegance, stood lavish and regal, the centre point for the magnificent wards spanning across the lands. Poisonous chartreuse ivy crawled artistically up the outer walls, mingling charmingly with Black- and Crème-coloured Roses in a possessive lovers embrace.

The grounds looked like an idyllic dreamscape, simply impossible to achieve by any means but magic. Flowers and blooming bushes covered the grounds, a captivating sea of colours, smells and creative fragility. Straw, yellow, rusty and common foxglove's, lilac wild chive's, violet bishop's goutweeds, white noble peony, orange globe flowers, lilac gas plants, white campion, purple, white, blue and pink hydrangea, English lavender, white mock orange, white dryas, green Japanese tassel fern, white kousa dogwood, pink wild roses, dusky pink summer spiere, white fortunes rhododendron, white and rose beauty bush's, lavender-coloured sweet rocket, white honeysuckle, red poppy's, snow-white roses, pale-yellow old man's beard and golden clematis were abloom, their sweet fragrance imbueding the air with little piece of heaven. Shallow rivers trailed through the endlessly seeming meadows, connecting the scattered grassy lonely existing in the sea of floral wonder, disconnected from the beautiful meadows through deep moat-like streams surrounding the grass fields. Stones lined the middle of the calm clear rivers, floatingly building natural pathways atop the water surface to reach from isles to isles. The abundant grass fields were ceremonially marked by druidic stone circles, created for celebrations and rituals, altars to magic. It was gorgeous.

The perfect location to welcome the summer back.

A maypole already stood tall on the largest isles, a phallic symbol of the Gods fertility and a spread of breed, sausages and vegetables was laid out in May Baskets and chalices, water and juices provided. The druidic stones were used as altars, covered in sticks, acorns and seeds; tulips and daisies and herbs were kept in cups and goblets, offerings for the faeries. Small blue-bell fires, so empowered they burned nearly white, were settled into cauldrons, grandly marked by swords, lances or arrows driven into the earth before them. Every child arriving was gifted with a colourful flower wreath of yellow daffodils, golden forsythia, sun-coloured dandelions and purple lilacs. He had to smile seeing the excited happy little faces of truly small ones, no more than toddlers really, bouncingly showing of their wreaths to their parents and asking them to nestle them into their hair. The men were given crowns of antlers and horns while the woman bore golden circlets interwoven with white lilacs upon their heads.

Tonight, even their youngest ones would be allowed to celebrate the transition from the 31st of April, the Night of Walpurgis, last day of winter, to the 1st of May, Beltan8e, the first day of summer. The transition from summer to winter and celebration of life to be reborn after the cold hardships they survived.

It was already evening and in a few hours Hadrian Black would be instrumental in blessing his family and friends with a gift they long since desired but didn't dare to dream about. A wishful hope downtrodden. Until then he would enjoy himself, dancing and laughing with the other children and just savouring the moment.

Tomorrow, the true spreads of delicious foods blessed by the earth would be feasted upon, freshly baked bread, sausages and summer vegetables; fruit such as cherries, mangos, pomegranates and peaches would be provided and sweet honey, fresh and flavoured milk as well as porridge oats mixed liberally with dried fruits, nuts and raisins supplied. They would throw colourful ribbons over the maypole and the woman would bless the fields and life-bearing earth. At night, when the children were asleep, Beltane traditionally accumulated in the sinful satisfaction of the flesh, a holy union of man and woman bearing tribute to the sacred union of the gods, of opposite forced created on the same spectrum.

Tomorrow the Dark would be given hope.

Tomorrow the Dark would rejoice.

Tomorrow … the Dark Lord would live again.

Free from the detrimental effects of bearing only a fraction of his own soul.

Greatness and Madness were often two sides of the same spectrum, and one could seldom exist without the other there to balance it out.

They really went hand in hand.

Hadrian was smiling brightly as he threw himself into his father's waiting arms, snaking around the man like a clinging cuddle monkey. He felt even more than heard the deep rich laughter he loved so much vibrating from that comfortable chest. A hand settled on his head and he looked curiously up, his smile broadening just that noticeable bit more and he beamed happily at his uncle Lucius, eliciting the pale-blond Lord to return it just as sincere and leaning forward to give Hadrian a kiss on his forehead. Uncle Lucius waited until Hadrian had returned the familiar greeting and then turned to continue the conversation with Regulus again.

" A beautiful idea you had there, cousin. I'm truly amazed at how wonderfully you have implemented it."

Regulus smirked proudly and shifted Hadrian higher up so he could cling securely around his father's neck and still look at the festivities going on around them.

" The idea and realisation were Hadrian's. He thought of it and had very specific instruction for his poor father and even poorer uncle, damn unlucky old sods that they are. We were absolutely helpless against the dreaded big green puppy eyes", his father chuckled. " Personally, I'm blaming Sirius for teaching that little imp how to effectively neutralise us and get his way unquestioned. One look at that gorgeous little face and we were gone."

Uncle Lucius agreed amusedly.

" Then it is no wonder how formidable everything is. You took secret lessons from my darling wife, didn't you, my child?", Uncle Lucius accused him bemusedly.

Hadrian nodded unrepentantly.

Aunty Cissy was the best.

His father laughed and gave him a kiss on the nose tickling a delighted childish giggle from him.

" Hadrian!"

He grinned as his older cousin ran over, coming to a sliding halt just before them, nearly running over the boys own father.

" Father, Uncle Regulus", the blond-haired boy greeted politely before throwing caution in the wind and demandingly stemming his hands on his hips, looking remarkably like his mother. " I want Hadrian. Now."

The black-haired boy in question smiled as both older man blinked only to start berating Draco for his disrespect while Hadrian managed to crawl back down to earth and stealthy took Draco's hand mid-rant only to turn around and run away, his black flower-woven braid flying behind him, ignoring their father's exasperated calls.

Both boys giggled, slightly drunk on the ritualistic magic, saturating the air.

Delicious.

'Now …

… now …

… time …

… has come …

… moment …

… it's time …

It is time! Now!'

Blinking, Hadrian looked down at his hands. His bloody hands.

Bloody .. bloody …. bloody …

He vaguely remembered the call, remembered the desperate pleas to hurry. Then only darkness. Inky Black Darkness.

And now here he was.

Standing still faintly vacant in the centre of a blood-drawn pentagram, wearing nothing but a thin white silk robe and a delicate silver pendant, barefooted, his long black hair let loose in delicate curls that fell enticingly over his exposed collarbone.

Magic, rich, deep, dark, soaked the air; Magic that reinforced the bright blood of the pentagram strong enough to make the dark-red lines lit up in an unearthly glow and coaxed the still moist bright-red particles to float up above the painted lines eerily. Hadrian sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He had always known this day would come, actively pursued its success in the last half year even. And still … and still he couldn't deny a sliver of fear. Couldn't deny one of the more irritating but important facts his gift often made him dismiss, because now it burrowed deeply within his rapidly beating heart. Because as much as he knew this was right and just, as much as he knew that this would bear nothing but blessings for his family … he was afraid.

Children were allowed to fear.

And he was a child.

Taking a deep breath he clenched his fists just once before loosening them and opening his eyes. Walpurgis was moments from dying and giving birth to Beltane.

He gripped the ceremony dagger in his right hand, his knuckles whitening painfully.

This was it.

Concentrating, he opened his mind and saw the strands connecting the Soul Shard, the Horcrux, dwelling in his scar and the Soul Shards inhibiting the five highly magical objects occupying the five points of the pentagram, saw how they all faded into the same direction, the direction of the Dark Lords Wraith; the main soul piece.

Tom Marvolo Riddle's Diary.

Cadmus Peverell's Ring.

Salazar Slytherin' Locket.

Helga Hufflepuff's Cup.

Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem.

Hadrian knelt down in the middle of the pentagram and started the Ancient Greek chant calling forth the wraith owning the accumulated Soul Shards. Louder and louder his voice echoed in the vast chamber. Blood dripped out of his eyes, ears, nose and mouth, for no matter how powerful his magic was, he was still in a child's body. A frail child's body. Grimacing, he continued on, feeling the tug straining and seeing the strands becoming brighter, more powerful, closer.

Cracks of Apparition sounded and screams of the frightened guests started, alarmed by the potent magic unleashed.

His wards raised faithfully, triggered by the approaching wizards, safely confining him and the Dark Lord in the pentagram, letting the summoning part of the ritual continue uninterrupted.

Curses tried breaking them down, his family's voices pleading above everyone else to stop whatever madness he tried to accomplish.

No.

There would be no failure. Not in this.

Suddenly, with an inhuman screech, the ghostly smoky-black wraith of the Dark Lord appeared, and Hadrian's breathing stopped. Even in this form, the man's presence was magnificent.

The screams around him rose only to abruptly die.

His chant ended in a high crescendo and after taking a few deep breaths, he relentlessly started the true Ritual of Resurrection.

" Soul Shards of the Dark One, you shall complete forever-more your Lord."

Black flames consumed the five Horcruxes, leaving Hadrian's scar as the last one existing, protected by his own magic. Black twisting smoke rose with terrible screeching from the burning Anchors, integrating painfully back into the winding Original Soul.

His hand trembled.

" Purest Magic of the Goddess' Children, you shall empower your Lord."

The old amulet around his neck opened, and a crimson stone pulsing with dark and white light floated into his cold hand. His fingers trembled as he focused his magic into the tips and clenched his fist, shattering the last existing Sorcerers' Stone, imbued with freely given magic from over thirty highly powerful beings including dementors, unicorns, vampires and werewolves. A cloud of delicious matured Dark Magic escaped into the air, joining with the Dark Lord. The creature twisted tormented.

Heavy old shackles of pure silver sprang from the five points of the pentagram, capturing the wraith and lowering him before Hadrian.

He smiled shakily.

" Life Blood of Destinies Chosen, you shall as promised resurrect your Lord."

The ceremony dagger dragged determinedly over two pale thin wrists, carving deep gouges into the delicate flesh. Crimson Blood run down, dripping onto the smoky form of the wraith. With each drop, the shadowy creature changed, becoming more substantial and slowly approaching a humanoid form, organs and flesh forming painstakingly slowly and covering the emerging man with flawless pale skin stretching over sinewy muscles and flesh. Strong lean limbs attached to a delicious bare torso, athletic and youthful. Aristocratic features dominating a gorgeous slim face and being topped by short black waves.

Beautiful.

Hadrian watched breathlessly as enthralling ruby-red bled into those mesmerizing eyes and smiled serenely as the silver shackles crumbled, unleashing the Dark Lords power.

Breathtaking.

Hadrian's legs collapsed beneath him as his core soaked up the liberated magic.

He felt more blood drip over his lips as the ritual finished and his world descended into plain darkness. The last sensation he felt were unfamiliar strong arms catching his crumbling form.

The Dark Lord was back.

Father's cologne.

Hadrian awoke to the expensive smell and secure familiar warm arms.

He felt strangely calm and euphoric at the same time, his body terribly weak. Blood loss. Expected.

Blinking up, he stared into his father's grey eyes, dark and stormy with wild emotions. Letting out the small smile lurking around his lips which got him a reproachful if scared look. He weakly lifted one terrifyingly trembling hand and touched his father's cold cheek. No one spoke.

It was a plea for forgiveness.

It was a gesture of reassurance.

It was one lone act, but meant so much more to the both of them than any spectators could discern.

Eyes closed relieved, his father gripped him tighter, pressing Hadrian against that strong protective chest he had spent his childhood snuggled against, and burrowed his face in Hadrian's dishevelled hair. If he had the strength, he would have returned the embrace, but as it was, he only soaked up the feeling of home, of family.

A rough hand settled tightly on his shoulder.

Hadrian knew that it was Uncle Siri. A second later the older man joined their embrace, clinging to Hadrian as if he would disappear between their fingers if they only dared to let him go.

Actions had consequence, he was aware of that. Just as he was aware that the chance of their overprotectiveness abating was next to nothing, especially taking his past into account.

He had gambled a risky bargain.

His still addled brain needed a few moments to notice the unnatural silence. Looking up, he took in the scene before him. All of their dark-inclined guests were there and kneeling, even the smallest children and the truly aged, staring with unobstructed awe at the majestic man still standing within the pentagram, now clad in black silken robes. Hadrian could understand their reaction only too well. No matter if you were dark, dark—inclined or grey, to be allowed to grace the presence of someone so enigmatic, so compelling … it was mind-blowing.

The Dark Lord wore a smirk.

Lady Hecate's favoured child had returned, and as arrogant as ever before.

Hadrian could actually taste her blessing on the man. And then, he was once again starring into those enchanting ruby-red eyes. They felt it both, that connection between them. And while one knew its origin perfectly well the other had already guessed correctly.

'And he will mark him as his equal …' Hadrian thought bemusedly.

He would hope so. He was raised as a Lord Heir, and even though he always knew he would become a consort he was most certainly not a deadbeat-doormat. But if that man believed he would be less than an equal … well, then he certainly had another thing coming.

A very bleak Black thing.

" Hadrian Black", the deep smooth baritone escaped the gorgeous man's perfectly bowed lips, calling everyone's attention. " No. Harry Potter."

A foreboding hush fell over the crowd.

Green eyes narrowed to slits as he freed himself shakily from his stiffened father and uncle. He could see the fear and terror in his direct and extended families faces.

" Hadrian Black", he responded in his lilting voice, a small serene smile gracing petal-like lips chillingly. Mockingly. " A pleasure, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Breaths were sharply drawn.

Now it was the Dark Lord who narrowed his eyes threateningly.

" Such blatant disrespect from the one who brought me back to life. Such a curious contradiction you pose."

Hadrian snorted delicately.

" I was raised on the stories of your greatness", Hadrian answered the unasked question softly, a dangerous glint in his jewel-like eyes none of his family had ever seen before in the vacant boy. " And I was raised in the knowledge that you believed yourself to have the right to make my family grovel while licking the dirt of your robes."

His smile became all teeth.

" Tell me, Tom Marvolo Riddle, are you Lord Slytherin, a Dark Lord so charismatic, ambitious and cunning the Ancient Black Family and their allies put their trust in the future you wanted to create ..."

He stepped forwards, tilting his head gently to the side.

Challenging.

" … or are you the same half-blood scum who was so obsessed with immortality that he betrayed everything he ever stood for?"

Hadrian's aura lashed out, breaking through the suppressions as poisonous green eyes fixated mercilessly on their red counterparts.

" Have you finished your pathetic tantrum and are ready to take on your birth right and vision once again, leading the Dark, leading Magic back to greatness … my Lord?"

And in this instant, two titans battled.

Magic clashed and recognized each other. Green and Black and Silver exploded.

Hadrian stood still as the Dark Lord approached elegantly, like a predator knowing this prey was not simply for the taking, coming to a halt just before him, self-assured but intelligently testing the waters. A smirk painted pale lips as long slender fingers came to rest against Hadrian's cheek.

" A true Black."

Hadrian smiled serenely back.

" And what a beautiful Black you already are, child", came the sensuous hiss.

Hadrian closed his eyes and leaner into the hand, his lips parting as the parseltongue escaped naturally in reply: " Thank you, my Lord."

The hand at his cheek stilled, before the thumb continued stroking. Gentler.

" And so talented."

" A gift of yours."

Hot breath ghosted against his ear as the hissed reply made him shudder.

„ Indeed, is it, dear child? What a present I made the one who truly vanquished me then, my green-eyed little snakeling."

Hadrian opened his eyes and stared resolutely into the extraordinary ones of his Lord. There was only curiosity, no madness, and maybe the slightest traces of already quickly fading anger born from decade-long resentment.

Good.

" You were too far gone, your Horcruxes had taken too much of your soul and mind. But … it was never meant to be permanent. You needed to be healed, and I wasn't matured enough in my magic to attempt it before tonight."

A deliberating hum escaped the man as he stared searchingly at Hadrian. A gentle probe touched his mind and Hadrian allowed the Dark Lord a barest glint of his thoughts and memories, carefully shielding him from the insanity-inducing gift he was blessed with. It wouldn't do to drive the man insane again.

Understanding bloomed on those aristocratic features.

" Maybe … is that how you know of my Horcruxes? Have you Seen them? No matter why, I'm not happy to be mortal again. I hope you truly know what you have done, snakeling."

Hadrian let a small smirk dance over his lips as he slowly backed away … mostly to get a better view of the others face at the revelation to come.

" Seen and heard", he conceded before a twinkle entered his eyes. " It helped that I always knew that Regulus was meant to be my father. I'm a Black, but I had to be conceived as a Potter to gain my gift. It was a condition set before I was a thought in my former parents minds."

He backed farther away.

" And as to being mortal again ..."

A giggle accidentally escaped his lips.

This was so … delicious.

" … am I not good enough a Soul Anchor for you?"

Hadrian threw his head back with a delighted cackle upon seeing one Tom Marvolo Riddle splutter like a muggle.

„ Fucked-up Avada Kedavra result", he informed teasingly.

There was a glint of possessiveness in those ruby red eyes and Hadrian playfully waggled his finger, ignoring the shocked gasps surrounding them.

" Fight for me, my Lord. Show me that you can return to greatness. I'm a Black, and Blacks never grovel and play the mindless minion ...not even to you. I want to see the man you were meant to be, the man my family chose to follow, for I am not a wizard who simply accepts to suffer fools to live and I sincerely hope neither are you."

Stepping between his stunned and terrified father and uncle he grabbed their hands and spoke in clear English: " I hope you like Blue Balls, my dear Tom Marvolo Riddle, because I'm still underage for quite a few years to come."

And with those lovely words, he apparated into his bed chamber, his direct family taken side-along.

No curses nearly missed, no swearing followed.

And he didn't miss his Lords heart-stopping, chilling smirk.

That's certainly enough reason for hope.

… what an interesting man.

Being grounded was no fun.

Hadrian had never understood why exactly cousin Dora and Draco bemoaned being grounded so much. Having never been treated with this particular punishment before, he thought it meant being confined to ones room with no entertaining outside contact whatsoever, meaning no crazy cousins or the other firsties trying to rescue him from boredom.

As if.

Nice delusion.

No, the Black Family had perfected torture by grounding centuries ago, it seemed. He knew he could have told his father about what the resurrection of the Dark Lord would demand of Hadrian, but he also knew just as well that it was necessary; that between loyalty to his Lord or his family, his father would have taken Hadrian's wellbeing as an unacceptable price to pay and done his utmost to derail the black-haired boys plans, fully aware of the consequences the Dark Lords rage would heap upon him.

For a Slytherin, his father could be remarkably gryffindorishly stubborn.

So, yes, he was aware that his actions had hurt his family, and he was just as aware that he was now paying for it. Heavily. But grounding, or more correctly writing three essays each 5 foot long on the most boring, stuffy, self-entitled, deceased family members his traitorous uncle could find was just wilful torture, and actually unnecessary. He knew that his father did this to fundamentally drive home that he was never allowed to do something that reckless and nerve-wracking ever again, but … he had no inclination and no need to even entertain such a risky endeavour ever again.

Besides, the greatest punishment wasn't even deliberately done. He was pretty sure that his family didn't even know what they subjected him to with the way they acted, how guilt ate him from within each time he saw the fear, the anguish and unadulterated terror in their eyes whenever that night was so much as mentioned in passing. The horror of seeing Hadrian slit his own wrists without hesitation and hearing him shamelessly back-mouth to the Dark Lord was enough to send his father into a coronary. And it wasn't only his father, it was also his uncles, aunts and cousins, everyone was acting even more overprotective than before, something he found equally baffling and nice, and cuddled up to him whenever they got a chance. He loved his family, and he loved how physical they had become with him in the last few days … and during the same heartbeat he absolutely hated that his actions had such a deep-seated effect on them.

To know how much they cared gave him sweet dreams and welcoming security.

To be aware of why they showed that care so exceedingly strangely, at least for Blacks, felt like lead in his belly.

Sighing, he continued writing the deadly boring essay.

But … beside adhering to destiny and delivering its promise by resurrecting the Dark Lord … his undertaking had provided something else very positive.

Smiling, he touched his pendant hidden beneath the loose black silk shirt. In it was a letter delivered by a Great Black Horned Owl just two days ago. It bore only one sentence.

'Call me Marvolo, my precious Snakeling, we will become very familiar with each other while spending the next years waiting for your maturity.'

It was perfect. One short sentence, no greeting, no goodbye or Signature, but honestly, Hadrian wouldn't have it any other way. The Dark Lo- … Marvolo, and wouldn't that take getting used to, was a man who would faithfully wait for him, so Hadrian would treasure himself until the age he was legal for marriage arrived. It was the least he could do.

Sighing, he grinned. Who knew that he would come to like the Big Bad Snake for himself and not just out of magical compability? There was a real chance that he would fall in love not only with the package and promises but also the man himself.

How … particular.

„ THAT – THAT FUCKER! THAT MERLIN-FORSAKEN SON OF A SQUIEB-BITCH! HOW DARE HE?! HOW FUCKING DARE HE?! NO ONE WILL EVER DEFILE MY PRECIOUS BABY, SWORN LORD OR NOT! COURTSHIP?! HA! SIRIUS, GET THE CHASTITY BELT OUT AND MOTHER'S TORTURE CHEST OUT – WE NEED TO DEFEND MY BABY'S HONOR!"

The lovely dulcet tones of his enraged father screeched painfully through the Manor.

Hadrian only continued sighing, having done a lot of that lately, and burrowed his face in the pillow before him, trying to tune out the insanity his life was. Nutcases, the lot of them.

It was only a courtship, not instant marriage.

… but if they even thought of ruining this for him...

Hadrian looked up, smiling poisonously.

The screeching only reached new decibels once his useless Dogfather-Uncle gave his father even more fuel and added the Grim-Animagus own panic into the quickly escalating mix.

Aggravating.

… he should better get Aunty Cissy.

~ The End. Sequel to 'Destined Despair', Prequel to 'Destined Downfall'.~